Citizen Erased
by Radioheaded
Summary: What if the blood donor in the Dallas hotel had 'convinced' Eric? What happens when a client decides he wants you as a pet--and you try to get out of it? Eric/Oc The title is owned by Muse; I'm just borrowing it.
1. Chapter 1

When the call came through, I was sitting in the waiting room, bored stiff, looking over my notes for Contractual Law 205, also known as the most mind-numbing reading material on earth. But I would get an 'A' in it, like all my other classes. And, hey, at least I would never have to buy Tylenol PM again. The paragraph I was currently entrenched in--that I was rereading for the eighth time--would put anyone to sleep.

When Randy, my boss, who sat across the room, idly spinning his cell phone on the desk in front of him, began to speak, I started, my eyes instantly on his face. He put the caller on speakerphone, and I listened as a firm, accented voice asked for a girl, A positive, to be sent to him. He would be waiting in the lobby.

I stood, stiffly, my leg asleep from sitting on it, and straightened my 'uniform.' Today it was a long, blue strapless dress that hugged my figure but left most everything to the imagination.

"Go get 'em," Randy said, smirking at me. I swore at him under my breath and repeated a mantra that might as well have been carved onto my forehead at this point: This is for law school, this is for law school, this is for law school. My heart quickened as I waited for the elevator to the lobby; I never knew the kind of clientele to expect, and it was always varied. Some were rough, some broke through my skin like a kiss, some were romantic, others were filthy. I told myself that it was only blood, something I barely noticed, something vampires were willing to pay me extravagantly for. I looked at my reflection in the elevator doors, the metal blurring my image so I was only an outline of a person. But then they opened, and I stepped into the small space that had mirrors covering every inch of space except for the buttons.

I looked pale, nervous. Clients didn't like that. I squared my shoulders, set my jaw and smirked at myself, annoyed that fear of vampires still permeated my entire being. It's sort of hard to be comfortable around someone who sees you as their daily caloric intake, I guess.

The elevators opened. I stepped out, conscious of the fact that the floor and my too-tall high heels were in no way made for each other, and glanced around the ornate, high-ceilinged room. A couple stood by the front desk, talking to Erin, the woman behind the counter. She looked up, hearing the 'ding' of the elevator and subtly made an exasperated face to me about the people she was helping. I grinned back, and continued my scan. A few humans sat on the various chairs, near empty fireplaces. But I couldn't find my client, until he appeared in front of me, a wall of black that extended a fair few inches above my head, even with the added height of the heels.

My eyes widened in surprise, but I let a smile curl the corners of my mouth upwards. "Hello," I said, trying to play like I the man in front of me was all I cared about. "I'm Elliot."

The man, blonde to such a degree it was almost golden-white, looked down at me, amused.

"Elliot?" He growled, taking a lock of my red hair between his fingers. "Would I find this color everywhere?"

I looked up into his eyes, blue, so pale they leaked into grey, the smile falling from my lips.

"Charmed," I said, without any intonation. "And it's called Henna."

He laughed, and a smile flickered across his face, illuminating it like a bolt of lighting, disappearing just as quickly. "Henna," he murmured, looking back at me again, closely. "That's old fashioned."

"Not in the Middle-East," I said. Ok, so yes. I allowed vampires to pay me for my blood. But I have goals, and ambition, and I do what it takes to get there. But everyone sees me as some stupid slut, a fangbanger whose only interest was being dominated by a vampire. And so I must be stupid, ignorant to everything but what I've grown up around. I felt anger and embarrassment flood through me, hot and fast.

"Spirited, aren't you?" he asked, rhetorically, but he didn't actually seem angry.

"I'm sorry," I said, automatically. "Would you like me to send for another girl?" He wrinkled his forehead, causing a slight 'v' to form between his eyebrows.

"No, you'll do." He took my hand. His skin was cool on mine, but not unpleasantly so. We walked, him leading me, to the bar area. He looked at a black leather seat in front of me; I sat, he followed, his body touching mine. He put his hand on my neck, sliding underneath my hair. His bite was gentle, one of experience so when he slid his teeth through my skin to the waiting veins below, I barely felt a pinch. I expected him to grip me a little tighter, to pull from the wound a little harder, but he didn't. He swallowed a few times, dutifully, and maybe it was because of the calming effect of the bite that I decided it would be alright to speak up.

"Calm down," I said, softly, so only he could hear me. "Wouldn't want anyone to think you're having too much fun." I cringed, though, realizing I've overstepped my boundaries when he pulled away, his hands moving from my throat.

"I'm over a thousand years old," he muttered, my blood in his mouth, on his lips, coating too-long teeth that somehow don't hinder his speech. "Feeding on the willing just isn't exciting anymore."

I looked around us at the various people in the bar. "Well, yeah," I said, abruptly. "Feeding on me down here is sort of like going through the drive through at a Starbucks."

I got another smile.

"Do…" I began. "Do you want me to be an unwilling donor?" He turned to me, face serious.

"Only," he said, his words laden with condescension, "if you're very, very convincing."

I smirked at him, allowed him to humor me, for the moment. I stood, feeling a trickling sensation from the wound on my neck. He looked up at me, questioning.

"I'm going to make far too much of a fuss for us to continue this little 'arrangement' down here," I said, holding my hand out. "I'm too good of an actress." He moved too quickly for me, grabbed my other hand and dragged me toward the elevators; I skittered along, trying to stay upright on my stupid heels. We got in, and soon enough were on the fourth floor, where he led me out. He walked fast, at a speed I could barely keep up with, until we stopped, suddenly, in front of room 418. I put my back to the door as he inserted the key; the light flashed green and I grasped the handle, pushing the heavy wood open so the cheery fluorescent of the hall contrasted deeply with the abyss that was his lightless room. He stood in front of me, expressionless. I put my hand on his chest, leaned up onto my tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. I slid back down, my hand gliding over the leather of his jacket. If his face registered surprise, I wouldn't have known, because at that moment, I stepped back, becoming invisible in the dark of the room.

Before I knew what was happening, the door shut in front of me, cutting off my vision. I gasped loudly when arms grabbed me from behind, restricting my movement. I kicked out, violently, digging my heels into the carpet, then against his legs.

"No," I screamed, my voice muffled by his large arms. I brought my arms up, tried to claw at him, but he was impervious to my puny attacks. I kept struggling, twisting in his grasp, losing myself to the point that when he bit me, I felt nothing, my instincts having taken over. He walked me, easily, over to the bed, and threw me down before climbing on top of me. I bucked underneath him, but it was like a mosquito trying to fight an elephant. He buried his head into the crook of my neck; I moved more spastically, twitching my arms and legs, hitting his back, pushing at his shoulders. But, little by little, my energy was sapped, drained from me into him.

"Thank you," he whispered in my ear, and I relaxed beneath him, muscles burning. In the darkness, my eyes adjusted and I saw the light of his hair in front of me. He didn't get off me, though, and a second later I felt the weight of his body shift as he put his arms down on either side of me. He angled his head, and his lips, warmed by my body, my blood, press softly onto my own.

I forgot to breathe, because he doesn't have to, and don't realize I'm fainting until I hear a noise like the ocean rushing in my ears.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Ok, so in the time verse of my story, Elliot meets Eric after he's already spoken to Lorena, also after he thinks Godric has been killed. So this takes place before/during the scene where Eric overhears Barry telling Bill where Sookie is. Thanks for the reviews, guys, you're great!

***

When I opened my eyes a few minutes, or hours, later, it was to a black that curled itself around my gaze, like ink suspended in water.

"I'm so good," I said, the words catching in my dry throat. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth, which was hot, sticky, and tasted faintly of rust. "I even play dead." A movement reverberated through my ribs; silent laughter, I gathered from the rhythmic spasms. My client.

"You know," he said, his voice close to my ear. "I thought humans understood the necessity of breathing."

"What can I say," I replied, clearing my throat. "The need escaped me for a moment." I tried to sit up, but the blackness began to swim with a sea of multicolored banners, entangling itself until all I saw was a startling patchwork.

"Stay down for a moment," his hand brushed my shoulder, the weight of his arm heavy across my chest.

"I took the liberty of calling your boss, Elliot." I held my breath for a moment before letting it go, slowly.

"Look, Mr…" I paused, elongating the syllables as I remembered I'd never actually gotten his name.

"Eric," he filled in, lightly.

"Look, Eric," I continued, wondering how I was going to get myself out of this situation in one piece. "I'm not a prostitute." The words left my lips and I burned red with embarrassment. Did I come off as that common?

"Elliot," he said, voice soothing like a rushing river, "I have no intentions of paying for sex--now, or ever. What I told your boss was that I enjoyed your company so much that I would be keeping it for the rest of the evening. Without any expectations."

My lips formed an 'o,' but it came out more like a sigh.

"Would you mind turning on the--" before I was able to finish the sentence, the room was bathed in a soft glow; I winced at its suddenness.

"Good?" he asked, peering down at me. He was perched on the edge of the bed, a man more beautiful than any Hollywood actor I'd ever seen. I hadn't really looked at him before, not closely. His features were chiseled, symmetrical and sharp. His eyes had stuck me before, but now, looking into them, I saw depth, the weight of time. A past. His skin had been pale before, but was now flushed with my blood.

"All the better to see you with," I said, the first thing that came to my mind. A second later, I realized it was a fitting parallel, except _he_ was the wolf, and I was Little Red Riding Hood, laid out like an appetizer on the bed for him. But if he saw the flicker of apprehension in me, he didn't let on. Instead, he stretched, rolled onto his side and faced me, looked straight into my eyes with a small grin playing at his lips, showing his straight, even teeth (the better to eat you with…).

Before I had time to think, to string sounds and syllables and words together into a semi-coherent conversation starter, his mouth met mine. I was so surprised that I held my eyes open for a beat, gazed at his too-close face and then let my lashes hit my cheeks. The kiss was soft, giving, but strange in that there seemed to be no passion in it. His tongue glided over my bottom lip and I opened my mouth, willingly, curious. It was the same, expertly done, sending waves of pleasure through my entire body, but sort of dead, as if he were on autopilot.

"Mm," the noise came out as a hum into his mouth; I enjoyed he reverb of the noise, but I pulled away, put my hand on his leather-jacketed arm and opened my eyes.

"What?" he asked, his eyes jumping back and forth, following mine.

"Something's--you don't," I began, flustered, but pulled myself together enough to try and make some semblance of sense.

"You're not into this," I said, and his eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?"

"Absolutely nothing," he replied, moving back to kiss me. I let him, let myself get carried away in the sensations. but my rational mind all but cleared its throat, so to speak, and I pulled away again; a growl ripped from Eric's throat, and I shuddered at its echo. We locked eyes for a moment and I blurted out the first thing that came to me.

"Why are you so sad?"

Eric moved too quickly for me to see, but I felt his weight shift over me. When he slowed down enough to re-enter human vision, he was on top of me, straddling my waist.

"What are you?" he questioned, or, more closely, snarled. His teeth lengthened and he was somehow more astonishing as a breathtaking predator. I gaped up at him, and the beginning tremors of fear began to pool in my stomach.

"What do you mean?" I asked, finding it hard to breathe with his body pressed so closely to min. I couldn't focus on anything; my gaze jumped from his eyes, his mouth, his arms that pressed down on either side of me.

""You think I believe that humans are actually that observant?" he hissed, lowering his face so we were almost nose-to-nose, forcing me to meet his suspicious gaze.

Ok. Again. Yes, I allowed vampires to pay me for my blood. But without humans, there are no vampires. Or, at least, very unsatisfied vampires living on the equivalent of slim-fast.

"Yeah," I said, anger shooting the words out like a machine gun, rapid succession, fast and short. "The unsophisticated cattle could never have any insight on some glorious Lestat knockoff."

Eric moved down, allowed his fangs to scrape the delicate skin of my throat. He didn't break the skin, but hovered just above, a cat playing with a caught mouse.

"I'm older than anything you've ever seen," Eric said, and for a split second I toyed with the idea of telling him about the castle from 900 AD I'd seen in England during my semester abroad--but something told me to keep my big mouth shut.

"So drop the petulance." He finishes, still at my neck.

My wisdom lasted all of two seconds.

"Listen, O, Ancient one, " I began, taking a breath that pressed my straining chest into his solid one. "I'm your average, everyday human who happens to read people very, very well. And however old you are, you're still a man who is, at this very moment, trying to fuck his feelings away. Don't insult my intelligence just because your motives are as transparent as glass."

I closed my eyes, turned my head and braced, for what, I wasn't sure--would he hit me? Bite me? Instead, his mouth captured mine again. I wasn't sure if I'd struck a nerve, or if he was just kissing me to shut me up, but the new fervor behind the kiss caught me off guard, stopped my heart in its tracks.

"Breathe," Eric ordered, into my mouth, and I obeyed, sucking in cool air and the warmth of his mouth. This time, his focus was completely on me, on the moment, and my senses caught alight under his lips, which caressed mine, under his hands, as they roved up and down my body, and his hips, which rocked forward, grating sharp against mine in a sensation I could only describe as _electric. _

Swiftly, he leapt off my body, leaving the fingers that had been entwined in his hair, stroking roughly, empty, clutching invisible fibers of the air around me. I made a noise, a sigh moan, and stared at him as he stood in front of the bed, looking down at me like a king surveying his land. He put his arms behind his back, slipped off the jacket, revealing a black tank top underneath. That came up over his head, baring his beautifully sculpted chest and torso. He smirked at me as I drank him in, my own body crying out in yearning for his. His hands were gentle, but insistent when he reached down and wrapped his fingers in the bottom hem of my dress. I felt a wave of wind flow over my heated body, then found myself only in my bra and underwear…and high heels. He lifted my leg, placed a kiss on my foot, slipped my black shoe off and proceeded to lick and kiss his way up the limb until his head was between my legs. His hands moved over my skin in small caresses until they reached my hips, taking the thin fabric between his fingers. I lifted myself slightly and he bit the inside of my leg playfully when someone shouting in the hall disrupted our focus. The voice was muffled, but I heard something about the Fellowship of the Sun and a basement; the distraction had somewhat of a drastic effect on Eric, who immediately dropped my leg, scooped up his clothes and went to the door.

"Elliot," he said, looking hastily back in, "Just stay here. Wait for my return." And then he was gone, and I was in a hotel room, mostly naked, incredibly turned on, and inescapably embarrassed.

"What the fuck am I doing?" I shook my head, tried to force some sense back in, got up from the bed, slipped my dress back on and straightened my hair.

I went to the door, looked back once, whispered a goodbye to Eric Northman, and went to the elevator, ready to go home and get into bed alone. Safely.


	3. Chapter 3

I stared at nothing in the elevator, still entranced by Eric so my eyes saw nothing but his eyes on my body, my skin felt nothing but his mouth on my neck, his hands on my hips.

"Snap out of it," I breathed, the words barely audible. This was ridiculous. There was no feasible reason to get hung up on a guy who wouldn't think of me. Ever.

My hands had found their way to the extra fabric of my dress and were twisting it distractedly; I was flustered, couldn't believe what I'd almost let myself do. I was never that kind of woman. And even if Eric wasn't paying me for sex, he had already paid for my body, my blood. There was no clarity in this situation; the lines of propriety were blurred and I couldn't honestly figure out if sleeping with Eric would have made me feel cheap, used. I'd wanted him; my body had ached for his touch, but there was an odd sort of master/servant vibe that just didn't settle right with me.

My thoughts were interrupted, thankfully, by the elevator's abrupt stop. The doors opened to the basement office, which was empty. I didn't know where Randy was, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get out, to drive as fast as possible, to get as much space between the hotel and I as possible. I stepped out of the elevator, into the too-bright room, my heels clicking in a hollow reverb that made the room feel even emptier. I went to my locker, quickly entered the access code, and took my purse from the small safe. I turned, walked out of the room, down a long, empty hallway, and then through the back door, into thick air that might as well have been water the way it swam down my throat, pooled on my skin.

I hated this weather, loathed the inescapable heat of the south. But I couldn't go home, couldn't go back to the north. Not yet. I reached my car, unlocked it and just sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, and asked myself if my dreams were worth the struggle, this constant fear of my clients, for my safety.

"Just stop it." I repeated this a few times until my mind began to quiet. I started the car, shifted into first and pulled into traffic. The rhythmic hum of the motor kept me busy. I sped up, the tachometer climbed. Clutch, shift, gas, repeat. The pattern got me home.

I'd made the trip in fifteen minutes; the roads had been oddly clear. I got out of the car heavily, like my body had been weighted down without me noticing. I went inside my apartment, locked the door, and collapsed into bed, entering into fitful sleep. The dreams I had were vague, but the taste of a chase filled my mind; the feeling of gliding around dark corners, my body just ahead of a shadowy figure whose face was obscured by darkness, but whose blonde hair shone pale white, illuminated by some unseen light

I woke slowly, languidly, to darkness. I blinked a few times at the screaming red letters of my bedside alarm, which told me it was 6:30 pm. I'd slept through the entire day. At some point during my comatose marathon, I'd kicked off my sheets; the evening air was cool on my skin. I stretched, felt the burn of pleasure in my muscles and curled onto my side. Though I'd slept for longer than I ever had before, I wouldn't have minded rolling over and letting myself slip away once more; but the responsible part of my mind ordered my body up. I went straight to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and took a long, deep drag from the milk carton inside.

Mmmm. I sighed, satisfied, and put the milk away. My purse sat on one of the chairs surrounding the kitchen table; I pulled it out and slid my contract law textbook out to review terms for the quiz Friday.

Anticipatory breach: an unequivocal indication that the party will not perform when performance is due, or a situation in which future non-performance is inevitable.

I repeated the definition out loud, then in my head. But my mind just wasn't having it; the words on the page blurred in front of me, making memorization a futile hope. Fictitious trade style and garnishee did no better. Instead, my thoughts weaved images and ideas; Eric was painted in front of me, his kisses and touches of last night replaying like a film.

As I stared at the term 'marginal business,' (A sale made to a credit risk from whom payment may be delayed because the business may not have sufficient operating capital), fantasy-Eric snuck up behind me, grasped my arms and pulled me toward the bed. I felt his teeth in my skin when I flipped the page and saw 'No asset case.' I shut the book entirely when the memory of his mouth, searing across my skin toward my lips washed over me. Even if he'd been conflicted, not entirely focused on me, his style had been better than anything I'd ever known.

Eventually, I made it through most of my definitions. When I collapsed once more into bed, noting that it was becoming something of a habit, the pink fingers of dawn had just begun to creep over the horizon. With a last look at the rising red orange, I pulled a sheet over my head, sighed, and fell asleep.

***

The shrill ring of my phone abruptly jolted me from the boundary of sleep into wakefulness; I tumbled, limbs not quite working correctly, out of bed and raced for my phone.

"Hello?" I said, my voice thick.

"Elliot?" A voice asked.

"Yeah?"

"You ok? You sound tired. It's Randy." I covered the mouthpiece of the phone, cleared my throat and tried again.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm good, I was just up late studying."

"Ok," he said. "Hey, I know you don't usually come in until eight, but someone's made a request for you."

"A--a request?" I stammered. My body went cold as adrenaline hit my bloodstream. I felt like I was standing beside myself, that I'd left my body entirely.

"Yeah," Randy went on, oblivious. "A Mr. Northman requested you come in around six, when he rises."

"Oh," I mumbled. My voice sounded far away, worried, even to me.

"I can refuse him, if you like," Randy offered. His unexpected kindness tempted me, but I sighed, and agreed to the job.

"Ok," Randy agreed, and hung up. I looked at the time; it was only two. I wondered what Eric wanted from me, what he could possibly need. Well, I thought of one thing, and it put a smirk on my face. A ghost sensation of his fingers on my legs came over me, and I shivered, though I didn't know if it was from fear or pleasure.

Time moved strangely after the call; I showered, groomed, and picked out something appropriate for work, which took up a good portion of two hours, but I was then ready, far too early, filled with a restless energy that was not satisfied by surfing the web, reading trashy gossip sites, or the continuation of a fluff novel I'd picked up for fun. I flipped through television, unable to concentrate, to find some semblance of focus. I turned it off, sighed, frustrated, in my empty apartment.

After doing little more than staring at the clock for two hours, I figured it was late enough to go to work. I opened my door to that thick, hateful air and felt my hair become weighted down, flat.

"Great," I muttered, and walked carefully in my heels to my car, setting my purse in the passenger seat. My phone chimed from within the fabric of my bag; I had a text message. I ignored it for the time being, started up the car, turned the music on and sang loudly, trying to get rid of some of the tension I felt. The ride was too quick; the hotel crept up in front of me before the forth song on the cd had begun. I pulled into the employee parking lot and checked my phone.

The text was from Randy: Northman instructed me to have you go straight to room 418. Good luck.

Great.

I entered the hotel from the front entrance so I wouldn't see any of my coworkers. I slid past bodies, alive and undead. People in expensive evening wear mixed with others wearing leather and cowboy hats; scents washed over me, varied perfumes and aftershaves, mixing together into one heady scent that made me feel light-headed. When I stepped into the elevator and hit the fourth floor button, my hands were trembling visibly. My heart pounded from within my chest like it was trying to signal someone via morse code; a vampire, a tall, dark-haired man who'd stepped into the small space with me glanced over, looked at me curiously, but said nothing. I willed myself to calm down, to relax, but my body betrayed me. Eric would know I was nervous, scared, because of my very own telltale heart, and there was nothing I could do about it. That fact just made me angry; I hated seeming so weak.

The elevator opened to my floor and I stepped out, gritted my teeth and all but stomped to 418. The door opened before I could know; Eric stood before me, pale as ever, which was only emphasized by the fact that he was dressed entirely in black.

"Heard you from the elevator," he said, leering at me. But I sensed, or saw that something was off. His words, like the first time he kissed me, were automated, said only because they fit his personality, what was expected of him. He was playing a part.

"Yeah, well, being summoned by a vampire will do that to you," I said, chin held up, looking straight, levelly at him.

"You weren't nervous the other night." He reached out to me, touched he back of my neck with cool fingers. With little effort on his part, he pulled me into the room, pushed my back against the door so it shut firmly. He slid his hand from my neck to my hair and pressed himself close so that his lips almost reached mine. But something inside me just _knew_ that this situation was off, that it wasn't right.

"God, what happened?" I asked, reaching up to touch his cheek. The skin under my hand was soft but firm, and had an oddly polished feel to it.

"What do you mean?" He replied, curving his lips into a smile. But vampires were people too, and they make micro-expressions, just like the rest of us. For a split second, his lips had pressed together, thinned, and pulled down. Sadness.

"Look. I don't know you, but I know people. And you're hurting. So what can I do for you?"

His eyes went cold; I froze under them as he stared me down. If he was trying to scare me, it was working.

"How is it," he said, his voice deadly quiet, "that no other vampire, human or fucking telepath can read me as easily as you can?"

"It's none of your business," I said, squirming under his gaze. "I just know people, alright?"

"Not quite." His arms wrapped around me, too quickly for me to respond. They moved slowly up and down the small of my back; the feeling of his fingers through the silk of my dress made my neck snap back as I inhaled loudly, close to his mouth.

"Eric," I said, my voice wavering, "Why am I here? What do you want from me?"

"I think you know what I want," he whispered. His accent was a little thicker, a little more pronounced. It made his words sound smooth, almost serpentine.

"You could have anyone." It's not a question.

"Yes."

"So why me?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Why not?" he retorted, lifting an eyebrow. Ah, the age-old technique of

answering a question with a question.

"There are probably thousands of women in Dallas alone that would fall over

themselves for a chance to be with you, to give into your every whim and

desire."

"So?" His arms were still around my waist; his touch was distracting, muffled my

thoughts so I had to strain to remember my point.

"So you choose the most obstinate--" He cut me off, spun me around so his back

was to the door and mine was to the bed.

"I like that you fight." He grasped my hands with his, took a step back and pushed me off my balance so I was held at a 45-degree angle, suspended by his strength between standing and falling. I didn't flinch, didn't try to step back to regain my own balance. I looked up at him, arranged my facial features into a blank mask, and hoped he wouldn't drop me.

"I like this color on you," he complimented nodding at my black dress.

"It sets off your hair and eyes." He took a lock of said hair and wrapped it

around his finger.

"What's your natural hair color?"

I didn't speak right away because I was bewildered, taken aback by a simple question. It wasn't what he'd asked that had surprised me, more the _significance_ behind it that had caught me. Eric, a man far older, wiser and more powerful than anyone I'd ever known, seemed genuinely interested in boring facts about me. It wasn't that I lacked self-confidence, but I understood that his age, all that he'd seen and done would make anything about me, a mortal, that much less interesting or important.

"Dark brown," I finally said. "Almost black." He let go of the hair and it fell back onto my chest. I barely noticed, too busy trying to figure out what exactly was going on between Eric and I.

"I like it. The auburn." He lowered me slowly until I felt the soft fabric of sheets and mattress underneath me.

"It's brighter in the sun." His lips pressed together again at my mention of the light. I watched as his eyes went dark almost imperceptibly, then met mine again. Something solidified in that second, clicked inside me, and an instinctual understanding filled me. His focus on me, the personal request for my presence. He wanted a distraction. Something had happened, something during the day, I surmised. Though vampires generally didn't _like_ talking about the day, something that paralyzed, then killed them, they usually didn't have such a strong reaction to its mention. Especially someone who had known so many nights and seen so few days.

"You're not from around here," he said. I blinked, and he was closer to the bed. It reminded me of an alligator stalking its prey; take your eyes off it for a second, look back and suddenly it's right next to you. I sat up, pushed back against the soft foundation underneath me so I was leaning against the headboard. It was hard, uncomfortable to my back, but I wanted to gain some height, wanted to show Eric he had no dominance over me.

"Neither are you." I thought of his voice, those quick, slippery syllables.

"Where are you from?" He stuck his knee out, knelt on the bed and kicked off his shoes in an easy, gymnastic motion that carried more grace than I'd ever had. He caught my stare, noticed the wonder in my eyes.

"You're unnerved by me?"

"No," I answered honestly. "You move like you're underwater."

"Underwater?" His eyes softened, and his lip quirked. An almost smile.

"The air supports you, like you're working against gravity."

"And that doesn't bother you?" He pushed his hair back against his head. It stayed for a moment before falling back neatly to the sides. He supported his head with his hand and just looked at me, so we were face to face. "It doesn't scare you that I break the laws of your world, the very basis of scientific fact?"

"No," I shook my head, tilted it and raised my eyes to the ceiling. "It just means we haven't got everything figured out yet. Besides, bumblebees break the rules, too."

"Bumblebees?"

"Yeah," I thought back to my undergrad science class. "According to physics, they shouldn't be able to fly. But they do."

"We feed off humans, hunt you, live off you." His eyes became slits, bored into mine, almost pleading. "We can kill you so easily. Your fragility is almost laughable compared to my strength."

"Yeah, but without us, you wouldn't exist. And humans kill to eat all the time." I wrinkled my nose; I'd been a vegetarian since I was 12. "At least, on basic principle. you spill blood because you need to. We don't. But we still have suicide bombers, murder, rape, and war." I looked back at Eric, who was staring at me intently. I felt like I could see the gears turning behind his eyes. "So humans don't really have the morality thing cornered, either. You exist, and so do we, for whatever reason. Why fight it?"

"You," his voice was soft. He paused, cleared his throat and began again, his tone much more firm. "You never answered my question."

"What?" My hands went up to my hair, twisted it into a bun, but I had no tie, so I let it drop down my neck, across my back.

"Where are you from?" His eyes were on my bare neck, then my hands. He blinked, the only motion on his otherwise still body.

"Up north." I didn't get into specifics.

"Not exactly forthcoming, are you?" He knitted his brow at me.

"Don't worry," I reassured, biting my lip. "I'm like this with everyone." He opened his mouth, and I knew there would be more questions about my back-story, more probes into my life. So without thinking, I silenced him with my lips, pressed into him, dragged my nails up the back of his neck until I reached his hair. I kissed hard, passionately, an honest physical expression of what my body wanted; I needed him to forget what he was asking me, forget whatever had been bothering him. His fangs lengthened as his tongue massaged its way into my mouth. I kissed around them, then allowed my own tongue to slide under one of the points so it pricked me lightly. My blood was in his mouth and he lapped at it fiercely, drawing it in with a pressure that made my toes curl. He slowed down, though, so every movement stirred a thousand nerve endings. My mind disintegrated, leaving only the ID, which craved this pleasure, gave into it. I pushed him, forcefully so he lay down on his back and I followed, aligning my body on top of his. His hand went to the clasp of my dress, behind my neck; it fell free a second later and he had it pulled down to my waist before I could stop him.

"Hey," I said, gathering my frazzled mind. I grasped his shoulders, noticing how broad, and strong, they were under my fingers. "Not yet." I pulled the dress up, but he gripped my wrists, halting me as I slid the silk past my ribs. He'd spotted my tattoo, an ornate skeleton key, barely as long as my pinky. He ran his fingers over it and I twitched, the feel of him against me igniting desire of my own.

"What's this for?" His fingers were still on the black ink, but he looked at me questioning.

"Though my language is dead/Still the shapes fill my head."

His eyes registered shock, widening, but the rest of his face remained still. "Do you always speak in riddles?" He released my hands, allowing me to reach back and fasten it securely around my neck.

"Do you always act in them?"

"You frustrate me, Elliot." He sat up, taking me with him so I was still millimeters away from his chest. I glanced down, saw the strain in his pants and bit back a smile.

"In more ways than one." It came out a purr. His chest, and mine, echoed with laughter. He put his hand on my leg, when we'd both finished laughing. A little too far up.

"I can't," I said, taking his hand. "Not here."

"Why?" He asked, frowning.

"Because I work here, and I'd feel too much like a prostitute. You're paying me to be here." He was silent. I looked back up at this face; it was beautiful, as I remembered. His tongue peeked out from his mouth, licked his bottom lip, and then the shy pink retreated back from where it had emerged.

"I understand." He said, then looked at me with an electrified expression; it changed his whole face, and I imagined what he would have looked like as a child, begging to play for just a bit longer.

"I have an idea." His words were loaded, filled with an emotion I couldn't quite identify. An idea. Apprehension crawled down my spine as I thought of what he might have in store for me.

"It involves being on the roof." His eyes sparkled as I felt my stomach drop and get acquainted with my feet.

"The roof."

He nodded, serious. "But first, I want to give you a token of my appreciation."

I felt my eyebrows rise as my lip curled into a sneer, showing my teeth. "You've known me for less than five hours. What could you possibly appreciate about me?"

"You've surprised me." He touched my neck lightly, slid his hand down so it rested on my sternum. He stayed there like that, and in the silence I could feel my heartbeat pounding under my skin, against his. "Few do, anymore."

With that, he brought his wrist to his mouth and bit, deliberately. He held the wrist out to me, and I watched as the blood flowed down his arm, unsure of what to do. He hadn't given me time to think, hadn't really given me a choice, but I bowed my head, licked the falling blood and made my way up to the would, mostly because I didn't want to make a mess of the bedspread. Stupid? Yes. But I'd acted without any real reason, and my thoughts dissipated anyway, as the thick, hot streams made their way down my throat. I drank deeply, my only concern hinging on consuming more, as much as I could.

It flowed through me, fast, mingling with my own blood, waking it up, making it sing with satisfaction. Whatever vampires were, whatever it was that kept them animated, was incredible. My hair stood on end, and I _felt_ the molecules of air as they brushed against me every time I made the slightest of movements. Every part of me just felt alive, joyful in a way I'd never experienced before. Eric took his arm away from me and I was left gasping, my heart staggering to keep up with the infusion of power I'd been given. I opened my eyes, not realizing I'd shut them, and was bombarded by details I'd not noticed before; the curve of Eric's eyelashes against the space around him, the subtle shine to his skin and the depth of color to his eyes--what I'd seen as grey was actually a speckled steel blue, made up of shades that weaved one solid color. I crossed my arms, gripped myself at my elbows and shivered at the intensely long reaction I had to the touch. Eric was looking at me, taking in the details of his blood's effect.

"I," my voice was louder to me, clearer than usual. "I feel like I'm high." I said, wondering if my pupils were enlarged. I turned away from Eric, slid off the bed and went to the mirror that was attached to the bureau, by the door. The light was low, my pupils were small. Eric came up next to me, laughing good-naturedly.

"Everything alright?" He asked, the smirk transferring to his words.

"Great. Really." I looked up at him, put my hands on his chest and marveled at the feel of the fabric underneath my fingers. Eric placed his hand over mind, slid it up to his lips and placed a kiss on the palm. I closed my eyes, allowed the sensations shooting down my arm to caress the rest of my body.

"Come," Eric said, taking my purse off the bed, where it had been forgotten. "You'll be needing this." He placed the strap over my arm, then took my hand and we left the room together. I felt excited, happy, though I wasn't quite sure why. Eric just looked down at me and shook his head as I staggered through the hall behind him, taking in everything around me.

"I feel," I started to say, as we got in the elevator, but stopped as he pushed the button for the top floor.

"Yes?" His voice was quiet, but it hummed with energy, with life; it sounded richer to me, his speech a flow of water I wanted to dive into.

"Nothing," I said, self-conscious. I didn't want to humiliate myself, to be drunk next to an obviously sober person.

"What you're feeling is normal," his hand moved to my lower back. "My blood has a very powerful effect on mortals."

_Weird,_ I thought. _It's almost like he knows what I'm feeling._ I didn't focus on the oddity of his knowledge too deeply, though; we'd arrived at the top floor. Eric motioned me out of the elevator and down a hall that led to stairs. I began the climb, slightly unsteady in my heels, but he took me by the waist and walked up the stairs so fast I was dizzy when we made it to the roof.

"Oh," I blurted, as he put me down. The lights of the city were bright, and I spun around, taking in the view.

"Do you enjoy it, Elliot?"

I turned to look at him; a bit of homesickness washed through me. "It makes me miss New York." I was wistful.

"Come here." He sounded playful, and he opened his arms to me. I all but skipped over, now surprisingly comfortable in my shoes. He slipped off his leather jacket when I reached him and laid it across my shoulders. I put my arms through the sleeves and hugged it close, inhaling the mixture of soap, aftershave and shampoo. Eric stepped closer so the blade of a knife couldn't have fit between us, and held me tight. When a beat passed and he didn't let me go, I turned my head, which had been buried in his chest, and tried to ask him what was going on. Instead, I gasped and scrabbled closer to him. He chuckled into my hair.

We were twenty feet in the air, bobbing gently in the wind.

"Oh, my god." My voice was high, breathy. Thrill poured through me and I struggled to catch my breath. Eric saw this, loosed his grip and moved his hands down to my hips. He raised me so I was a few feet higher than his head, and took us higher, fast, so the wind whipped over me, through the jacket, and made my hair form a cloud behind my head. I laughed, gasping at the beauty of the night, the freedom of my body in the sky, the feeling of being weightless. I spread my arms and Eric flew us in a loop; I screamed, a choking laugh, and then we were horizontal, floating lazily among the clouds. I looked up at him with so much joy I thought I'd burst; he smiled down at me, and I told him I was right. Gravity had nothing on him. He bent over me, hid his face in my neck and paused, waiting for permission.

"Do it," I shouted. When he bit, I convulsed, attached myself to him as much as I could, and rode on the feeling of hands, moving all up and down my body, releasing stress, working every muscle gently.

"Ahhh," I sighed. When he lifted his head, my blood was blue black on his lips. He licked them, closed his eyes, savored me, then, when his mouth was clean, I moved forward, kissed his cold lips and felt a flutter of lust so powerful, I groaned into his mouth. My stomach rolled uneasily, though, and I broke our contact to see that we were descending. Soon enough, the smooth asphalt of the parking lot behind the hotel was under my feet.

"Thank you," I blurted, my voice thick with tears. Nothing so special had ever been done for me before. "Ever since I was young, I--just, thank you." Tears overpowered my eyes, coated my skin with wet warmth. I tried to brush them away, but Eric stopped me, cleaned them off my face with his long fingers, and then slid them into his own mouth.

"Where's your car?" he asked, keeping his eyes on my face.

"Uh, it's the blue Volvo, over there." I pointed to the left vaguely. "I think." He turned and I trotted a few steps so I walked with him. Sure enough, my car was where I thought I'd left it.

"Give me your keys," Eric ordered. I fished in my purse for them, but hesitated in handing them over.

"You're in no shape to drive," he explained, and I reluctantly let him take my keychain. He unlocked the car, and I went to the other side, feeling odd about being in the passenger's seat of my own car.

"Manual," Eric nodded at the shifter. "Not many women I know drive standard."

"That's me," I said. "Unusual." He nodded, agreeing, though I'd spoken sarcastically. He asked me where I lived and I directed him; the ride home was quiet, a comfortable silence that had an edge of something to it, a bit of tension in the air. I was practically humming with energy and expectation, though I didn't know why, or for what. I peeked at Eric's profile as he drove. His face was calm, unnervingly so. I smoothed my dress, straightening imaginary wrinkles.

When we finally pulled up to my place, Eric turned, cocked his head to me, and asked a question, four simple words that sent me into a spiral of options, each situation playing through my mind.

"Can I come in?"


	5. Chapter 5

Instead of answering him, I edged toward him; he thought I was leaning forward for a different reason and tried to angle his face to meet mine. Instead, my arm snaked around his chest, found the ignition and turned the engine off. Without looking at him, I stepped out of the car, walked up the few steps to my apartment and was distracted by my vision. It was clear, too clear for this time of night; I'd always heard of the side effects of vampire blood, but had dismissed them as urban legends. But now, the chipped white paint of the porch jumped out at me, something the dark should have masked. But I shrugged it off when I felt Eric's eyes on me, something I expected to leave a burn mark on my back. I arrived at the front door, slid the key into deadbolt and heard the pins align, then click, releasing the lock. The door opened and I stood in the frame, straddling my decision. It was made when I looked over my shoulder, looked into Eric's eyes. He was still in the car, sitting calmly. Waiting.

"Come here, Eric." He got out of the car, moving slowly, so I could see him, watch him as he stepped toward me, never looking back, never glancing away. His hands gripped the inside of the door, but he couldn't enter. I hadn't let him, yet, and so we stood on opposite sides, split down the middle, my space and his. I invaded first, made the first breech by clasping his collar, crumpling it carelessly to pull him in slightly as I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. His head dipped forward, cleared the space into my home, but his body remained solidly on the outside. I didn't know where I was getting this courage, the power that ran through me, that allowed me to play with him like this, that let me believe I was in his league enough to keep him waiting.

"Sorry." I pulled away, though it was difficult. There was a charge in the air, electricity that crackled angrily as I allowed space to come between us. I felt my lips spread in a Cheshire cat grin. "Did you want to come in?"

"Elliot," he snarled, voice full of what I assumed was lust. It was contagious; I was heady with need for him, for his hands and lips and everything else that came with.

"Eric," I breathed, stretching up for him, this time exploring the area where his neck met his shoulder. His body quaked as I scraped my teeth lightly across his skin before putting pressure into the bite before licking and kissing my way across his collarbone. The empty space behind me seemed to have a strange gravity and I felt as if I were pulled backwards into its depths; my hand moved down the length of Eric's shoulder to catch his hand.

"Please. Come in." The words swirled forcefully into the air because as soon as I'd let them go, I was walked--or flown, I couldn't really tell--back into the wall of my foyer. His other hand found mine so both were interlaced, and then he pinned them against the wall so they were outstretched. I was a human cross. His mouth began an exploration of its own, starting behind my ear then down across my neck; the pressure was delicious, a push-pull rhythm that made me cry out loud when he found a particularly sensitive spot on my lower neck. He intensified the force of his caress and laughter burst from me, peals that didn't subside until he stopped and looked up at me, making my dazzled skin cry for the loss.

"Sorry," I said, catching my breath. "It's good, really good." His face was incredulous, but he resumed his motions without missing a beat as I hissed between my teeth, letting the repercussions of his touch ripple through my body.

"Uhn," The moan that poured from me was guttural, insistent. I fought against his hands, which had formed manacles around my wrists, keeping them frozen against the wall, though I wanted desperately to be released, to be allowed to touch him freely.

"No," he said, though his words were muffled because he spoke into the arc of my ribs, mouth still on my skin. He enjoyed the control, I could tell. It lit his eyes, woke his being up because at the core of him was a hunter; it was laid in the foundation of his DNA, in the tips of those beautiful, deadly teeth that evoked endless fascination in me. I leaned back into the wall, tilted my head back and pushed up with my legs, encircling his waist. My hands dropped and I was falling, back first, to the floor. A scream ripped from my throat, savage and loud, as I hurtled toward unforgiving wood. Instinctively, my eyes shut and my hands went to my head, but the blow never came. Instead, Eric's hands supported my shoulder blades and lifted, so I was eye-level with him.

"That's for the delayed invitation," he said, cackling. I rocked my hips down, felt the strain at his zipper and pressed against him roughly, allowing my leg to run over the length of the area.

"And now, we're even." He didn't respond to my words; instead he ripped the back of my dress, pulled it down to my waist and went back to my neck, back to the sweet spot.

"Bedroom?" he asked, between smooth strokes of his tongue.

"Down the hall," the words came out a gust, muffled between gasps and moans. "To the, ah, left." My fingernails dug through his shirt into his back as he carried me swiftly through the dark until the familiar walls of my bedroom surrounded us. I let go of his waist, landed solidly on my own two feet, though I was dizzy with disbelief and wonder. Could this really be happening? His arms were still around me, gripping my back with his large, sturdy hands; they took my heat, but I gave it willingly. I found the buttons of his shirt, began to undo them, but they were tricky in the dark, under my fingernails. Feeling brave, I jerked the cloth, hard, and listened to the distinct sound of buttons bouncing off the floor. I dragged the ruined shirt past Eric's shoulders, then off entirely. His hands were already on his pants, which, when sucked off into a ball in the corner, revealed he had been au natural under them. I gulped at the air, breathed fast but found no relief for the quick pace my heart took up, for the sheen of sweat that I felt break out all over me. His body was sinewy but muscular, long and broad; in a word, perfect.

"My turn," he smirked, but my dress had already begun to fall off; I let it, fluid as a cloth waterfall, slither down my body. Surprisingly, my heels didn't catch in the fabric as I stepped out of it where it had pooled on the floor. Eric sank to his knees in front of me, pulled my hips into him and slid his hands up my legs, teasingly.

"You'll pay for that," he teased, as he hooked his fingers under my underwear and began to pull. I stopped him, put the toe of my stiletto on his shoulder.

"I'm sure," I grinned. He leaned away so my foot rested on empty air for a second before taking the heel off, lowering my leg and repeating the process on the other side. This time, when his hands reached for my panties, I didn't stop him. He licked his lips as they hit the floor; I unhooked my bra and he replaced it with his mouth and hands. He kneaded, sucked and kissed so powerfully well I lost myself to a swirling building of pressure, of pleasure. The thunder of my heart filled my ears, rivaling the intensity of any storm I'd ever witnessed. His movements were like the wind, so intense I wondered how I would catch my breath one minute, and the next he slowed his pace, laying soft strokes over my breasts, my ribs. His licks and nips alone threatened to send me over the edge, though the pleasure was cut short when he suddenly stopped, propped himself up with his arms so he formed a bridge over me.

"Do you want me, Elliot?"

"Yes," I moaned, wriggling with need for him. "Now."

His aim was perfect, our pattern was right and as he entered me, everything just…stopped. My heart, my lungs, time itself slowed as he slid his length into me and we became one. The split-second time continuum healed itself, restored order and sped up to correct the suspension; I know this because suddenly he filled me completely and was moving back out as I rocked forward, pushed my hips up and arched my back, creating a sweet angle that send shudders through me. I opened my eyes to find him staring into me, deeply; the honesty, the intensity of the moment stretched me out so I was laid bare again, though this time my vulnerability was set before him. He lowered his head, then rolled so my back was against the empty air and his was supported by the bed. I laughed at the sheer oddity of having been moved, been blurred into sitting up.

"Look at me," he said, reflecting my smile, though his was as bright as dawn.

"No," I refused, bringing my hand to his face. I covered his eyes; he let me.

"Close them." It was an order, a command that was delivered with all the firmness of a drill sergeant. I felt the flutter of his long lashes against my improvised blindfold; they shut, and I uncovered his eyes.

"Don't open them," I warned, hoping this would work. For humans, if you took one sense away, the others heightened to compensate; I was guessing vampires would be similar. Eric's face remained passive when I drew the tip of my finger, feather soft, along his forehead, down his cheek, looping toward his mouth. I touched lightly, ghosted across the soft expanse of his mouth and felt him vibrate underneath me, inside of me. His mouth opened, fangs showing, when I reached his neck, traced over his shoulder before coming back to his chest. When I drew forward, let my hair fall over my shoulder so it curled over him, swishing slightly, making invisible patterns on his skin, he let out a short moan; his fingers went to my shoulders, gripped me tightly for a moment, but his eyes stayed shut. His hands loosened when I shrugged, motioned for him to relax. His hands fell back to the bed and mine stayed on his skin, his chest, where I dug the nails in and scratched down toward his hips. His eyes popped open; I started to order them shut, but the look on his face told me, in no uncertain terms, that he wouldn't comply.

"Move with me." I barely heard him; his eyes met mine again and hem them there like a lifeline. If there was a storm around me, he was my raft. If I looked away, diverted my focus, I would drown in the wild sensations rushing through my blood. His fingers, strong and lengthy, spread around my waist, a perimeter of ten points that supported me as we found our rhythm. I lifted up, anchored myself to his chest; it wasn't until I felt something wet on my hand that I realized I'd left half-circle cuts that had begun to pool with his blood. Without thinking, I licked at them, watched the wounds heal and let my mouth continue its journey until it met his. We stayed like that, connected, forming a circle of the space between us, until I was gasping, moaning Eric's name into his mouth while circling the edge of frenzy. My heart was a drum in my ears but I just jerked faster, running toward the fizzy ecstasy of release. I was on its precipice when Eric tore away from my lips, hugged me close, and bit softly into my neck, sending me out of my mind, out of my body, separated my molecules so I was everywhere and nowhere at once. He reached the edge a moment later and after I felt him begin to soften, I rolled off, onto my side, still in his arms.

When we--or, I, at least, caught my breath, Eric reached out and snapped on the light that sat atop my bedside table.

"You," I sad, propping myself up on an elbow, feeling rubbery and shaky, "should be cloned."

"Yeah?" he said nonchalantly, looking up at me, comfortable on his back. "Why's that?"

"Because every girl deserves that. At least once."

"Glad you enjoyed yourself."

"Oh, I did." I said, satisfied.

"And I enjoyed you, too." I flushed, embarrassed, and tried to hide my head in my arm, under the sheets so Eric wouldn't see the ugly warm spots that spread across my cheeks.

"I feel the heat rising off your skin," he said. I heard the laughter in his voice. He pulled me onto him so my still-hot skin on his chest. His body was soothing, sturdy in a way that made me feel anchored, trouble-free. In his arms, I was safe. I began to feel drowsy.

"Contract law?" Eric said, and my sex-addled mind went in a few circles before it caught on that he was asking about the book on my night stand.

"Oh, yeah." I mumbled, sleep hanging on the words. "I'm a law student."

"Do you like it?"

"Not particularly," A yawn stretched my words. "But I'm good at it."

"I see."

"Mmm," I murmured.

"Tired?"

"A bit. I rolled onto my back, my shoulder flush with his.

"Maybe I should wake you up." Before I could say a word, he was between my legs, doing things with his tongue that made my muscles spasm and clench with appreciation. He led me to the edge, then moved with me as one, and I dove into a pool of sensation that kept me outside my body for at least a minute. He kept going, burying himself inside of me until it was his turn to cry out, to gasp blindly at a moment of perfect bliss. We separated, and his head went to my chest, where the echo of my heart sounded loudly, happily.

I looked down at him, a creature so unlike me, and wondered what it was like to live as a vampire; his teeth were showing and he kept his mouth open, as if to remind me: he was dangerous, I was his prey. But they looked so natural that when they slid back, retracted into his gums, his human teeth looked alien in his mouth. He didn't notice my staring--his eyes were far away, processing something else entirely. When I ran my fingers through his hair, began massaging in small circles, he closed his eyes, trailed a finger across my stomach in lazy figure-eights and relaxed into my touch.

"Where are you from, Elliot?"

"I told you. Up North."

"Where?" he asked, voice firm. He wasn't playing.

"Rhode Island. Born and raised. Except for six glorious months in England."

"You lived abroad?" He was surprised.

"Yeah, studied there. I still miss it." My words were quiet as my thoughts flickered back to my younger days. Though things were still complicated then, they seemed easier, looking back.

"Where am I from?" He asked. I smiled, touched the tip of my tongue to the top of my lip.

"Well, you're not English. Or French. Or Spanish." His lips met my skin, pressed softly. He was distracting.

"Your accent sounds Germanic. But you're a thousand years old, so the whole country thing was probably loose boundary marks back then. So I'm going with Northern Europe."

"Sweden."

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes." I felt something wet trickle down my stomach; I figured it was a bead of sweat--Eric was a workout. We lapsed into a comfortable silence after that, my breathing the only sound in the room. After awhile, my still body sprung to life as I began to dream. The images I saw were of nature, the wilderness, and I ran through it without a care, without the need to stop and rest, to eat, to breathe. I heard someone with me, though every time I turned around, they disappeared back into the trees. But I knew they weren't there to hurt me, just to keep me company as I chased eternity.

When I woke the next morning, curled onto my side, blankets pulled up to my chin, I understood why Eric wasn't with me. But I couldn't help the disappointment that flooded through me. To wake with his arm, lightly dusted with hay-colored hair thrown casually over my chest would have made the night complete. But he'd gone, sometime in the night, and I couldn't follow. I threw my bedcovers back and sat up gingerly, aching from the sexual Olympics we'd competed in. My chest felt off, though; tight, and slightly stiff, and when I looked down at my bare skin, I understood why.

My chest, in between my breasts, was streaked with blood. I felt no pain, so I knew it wasn't my own, but I gaped at it nonetheless, mouth drawn back in horror. What had Eric done?

I walked, naked, the floor cool beneath my feet, to the phone; an ache rippled through me with each step. I dialed the number to the hotel and waited as it rang.

"Hotel Camilla. How can I help you?" The voice was unfamiliar, and the relief of anonymity washed over me.

"Hello, can I leave a message fore Mr. Eric Northman to call me when he wakes up?"

"What's the room number?"

"Four-eighteen." I stood there, a hand on my hip, as the line went silent, save for a few quick keystrokes.

"I'm sorry, miss, but the party in room 418 checked out early this morning."


	6. Chapter 6

"He--he checked out?" My voice shook, made my words waver in a way that made them foreign, unrecognizable to me.

"I'm afraid so," the voice replied, becoming impatient with my repetition.

"Sorry." I muttered. "Thanks." The phone beeped as I shut it off, a flat, mechanical click that emphasized the emptiness of the house around me. I pulled the wicker chair of my kitchen table out and sat, dumbfounded. When I began to laugh, it took me a moment to realize the sound was coming from me. Hysterical swells came from me, lined up and bounced off the walls, smacking me in the face with their reverberation. My aching muscles, my tired body begged me to stop, but the horrendous sound that contained nothing but humiliation and blinding anger kept coming, rolling out of me like a fountain. When warm wetness hit my cheeks, then my chest, I realized the laughter had turned into sobs, but by then I'd been paralyzed, left stranded on an abandoned island, left to face myself alone.

The clock on the stove said that it was 11:00; I had classes today, had to get to campus by 1. So I walked, slowly, to the bathroom, turned on the water and stared at my reflection. My hair was tousled, rumpled from sex and sleep; my eyes were smoky from leftover makeup and my mouth was red, bruised from kissing. The steam slowly veiled my face until all I saw was the soft, blurred impression of features. The bathroom was warm, humid with steam that wet my skin before I stepped under the hot spray. When I did, lifting my head to let the water massage the tired skin of my face, my knees went weak; I hit my back on the side of the wall and slid down on it so I was sitting under the water, left to catch my breath as the stream poured on my head, down my body in droplets that hit the tile beneath me heavily, loudly, like tears. I didn't shed any more. I couldn't. I'd been used too deeply and was now left empty for it. Eric had played me. It had probably been too easy for him. He'd probably enjoyed it, enthralling the naïve mortal, and I'd trusted him. Willingly.

After a few deep breaths, my muscles relaxed. I found myself getting up, shampooing my hair and scrubbing my back with a loofah, the scent of my oatmeal body wash leaving my skin smelling like a warm winter morning. I scraped a little too deeply when I washed the blood off my chest, but I wanted him off me, out of me. Gone. My hands shook when I opened the shower door, but I straightened my back, wrapped a towel around myself and stepped into the light of the day, resigned to having been made a fool. I'd had my moment of pity, and now I would continue, hurt, but wiser. I stood in the hall facing my kitchen and looked at the impersonal space around me; no pictures of family or friends hung on the walls; the furniture was from Ikea, modern, clean and bare. I swept a hand over my head, though my soaking hair. The apartment was cool; my body was steaming, left trails of condensation as I walked through the hall to my room and pulled on khakis and a short-sleeved shirt. The task was done too quickly so I went to the bed, laid back and sat quietly while a bone-deep fatigue unfurled in me, in my blood. I wanted to shut my eyes, to let the day blur into a mix of barely-conscious awareness mixed with the enigmatic images of sleep, but I had work to do. I breathed in, deeply, and then realized what a mistake I'd made. The bed smelled of him, of his cologne, his body. I rolled away, disgusted, and went to the bathroom. My hair had cooled and the rivulets that dropped off chilled me as they soaked into my shirt, rolled down my back.

***

The drive to campus was boring, filled with frustration over drivers who couldn't actually drive. It had begun to rain, heavily, and traffic had slowed. As a New Englander who was used to dealing with far worse on a regular basis, I found myself shouting expletives at the drivers around me. I made it to the parking lot near my first class with minutes to spare, and sprinting through the rain because I'd forgotten my umbrella did nothing for my mood. But I was there, albeit slightly unprepared. I'm meant to look over my notes for my Constitutional law class the night after work, but instead, I'd been feeding into the game of a sick vampire. I kept my head down when the professor came in and began scribbling furiously as she spoke, hoping she'd ignore me.

My friend, Jessica, came into the class after the lesson had begun, nodding an apology at the professor. She sat next to me, pulled out her notepad and looked at me for a beat too long before turning her attention back to the drone coming from the teacher.

"So, who can tell me what the fundamental constitutional principle is, and who it was inspired by?" She looked around the room, her sharp brown eyes catching mine when I made the mistake of looking up.

"Elliot?"

"Uh," I answered, oh-so gracefully, but then had a burst of realization. "The principle is that citizens may do anything but which is prohibited by the law, and the government may not do anything but which is authorized by it."

"And it was based upon whose idea?"

"John Locke."

"Good, Elliot. Moving on, what are the main differences between a unitary and federal constitution?"

I stared at my notes, knowing the answer, but unsure of how. Jess tapped my arm lightly, mouthed 'good job' at me with a smile, and turned back to her paper while I had a miniature mental breakdown. I'd skimmed the chapter for this class a week ago, after the fact, but hadn't touched it since. And I remembered everything. I could see the words on the page in my mind, even. Something was very different, and as I went across the topics of my other classes, I realized I remembered everything I'd read--in the past three months. I was a wealth of knowledge, a literal Rolodex of information.

Eric's blood, it seemed, had effects far greater than anything I'd ever suspected. When, eventually, the class ended, Jess and I walked out of the building, blinking in the light of the suddenly bright day.

"Want to sit by the statue for a bit?" She asked, tilting her head so her brown locks spilled down her back, rippling attractively in the sun. I nodded my assent, and we sat on the hard marble base of a fountain that spewed water from an enlarged set of scales.

"You look good," She said as we sat down. I shrugged. "But sort of sad," she noted, and I froze, thinking of some sort of excuse.

"This is over so soon," I said, looking at her with what I hope passed for a wistful gaze. "It's sort of scary." Jess pulled at her blue cardigan, seemingly sympathetic to my manufactured plight.

"I know," she sighed, toeing the ground with her worn-down Converse sneakers. "You going back to Rhode Island?"

"Yeah, it's where I'm taking the bar."

"Mm. Lucky me, staying right here."

"Dallas is…. nice," I struggled out, obviously stretching the truth a bit.

"Yeah. Thanks." But the words were playful; she was teasing me.

"I'm a New-Englander at heart, Jess, you know that." I laughed at myself, remembering the rocky acclimation that took place my first year. Jess had been there for me, always. But she didn't know about my job, only knew I worked in a hotel in downtown Dallas. And I wasn't privy to letting her know anything more.

"I know, I know. You'll always be the same cold, unfeeling girl I know and love." I play-punched her arm, chuckling at the stereotype.

"God, that first day I was here and people were saying 'hi' to me; I was so confused as to why!" She chuckled with me, and we chatted about nothing, really, before lapsing into a comfortable silence dotted with the occasional people-watching comment.

"What do you have next?" She asked, glancing at her watch.

"Global Governance."

"Ugh, with Brovern?"

"The one and only." Brovern was a professor that tended to spit when he spoke, and looked down his female student's shirts. Often, and obviously.

"Have fun," she said, gathering her things and standing. "Off to Food and Drug for me." I waved at her, watched her retreating back.

"Hey," She called, turning around. "Wanna do a study group this coming Monday?"

"Sure," I replied. I'd taken the day off from work to do so, anyway. "Meet at yours?"

"Yup. I've got food, but bring caffeine. Lots."

"Sounds good," I said, and she headed off, looking down at her watch again. I sat still, tilted my head up to the sun, soaked in its heat and waited until it was a reasonably close time to head off to my next class. I'd prepared for this class, and the information was cemented into my head, a part of me like my birthday or social security number. It was just _there._ I listened closely to the instructor, and groaned internally when we were told we'd be kept late to watch a film, _12 Angry Men,_ that I'd seen before, and were going to have to point out all the inaccuracies and treatment of the law in a discussion afterwards.

I slumped my head into my elbow, barely focused on the black-and-white figures on the screen, but eventually the credits rolled and the discussion got to the point where students began to beat a dead horse. We were dismissed, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I headed out to my car in the now dark and mostly deserted parking lot. My shoes had tiny heels to them, and they clicked loudly so my footfalls surrounded me, made it seem like I was walking with a crowd. With each step, though, I felt a strange jittery energy buzzing at my skin so I felt like a dog with its hair standing up, unsure of exactly what's wrong, but frightened all the same. When I reached my car and unlocked it, sat dazed on the cloth seat, waves of sadness, of anger and pain flowed through me, obvious as a drug hitting my system. I had no idea what was wrong--yes, Eric had hurt me, but his betrayal wasn't the cause of the soul-crushing abandonment I was feeling. I wrapped my hands around the steering wheel and waited, tense, like a junkie who needed a fix, until I saw the last few cars parked near me drive off. When no one was within hearing distance, I let loose the screams that had built up inside of me and felt a small release, a tapering to the degree of wretchedness that engulfed me like an ocean around a fish. But the slight relief didn't last long; it was replaced almost immediately by a force that ripped me apart, tore from the inside out with such insistence that I clapped my hands over my heart, expecting it to shoot out from my chest because nothing else could burn like this, could squeeze everything inside of me so tightly that I just wanted to die, to let everything fade to black--the pain, the hole that had been carved so carefully, so exquisitely that it had left me conscious enough to feel every aching moment.

I dragged air in, felt like I was breathing through a straw while my head spun and my eyes began to flutter before rolling back into my head. But before I could let go, let myself slip away completely, a random memory popped into my head. I was about fifteen years old and stood at the top of a steep mountain, gazing down at the hairpin turns with glee; under my feet was a snowboard that I scooted forward carefully on, then tipped the nose of the board over the edge. A burst of adrenaline leaked into my blood, my mind, and I laughed at the high as I pivoted, curving this way and that as I carved the snow. I had been breathless in the face of the natural beauty of the pure surrounding whiteness.

As the memory faded, I felt a bit better, a little less like my lungs were in a vice, so I brought another memory to the surface, this time of a summer during my undergrad career. My friends and I had snuck into a private lake during the middle of the night and swam far out to the docks; we jumped in, felt relief of the water against the humid air. We wrapped ourselves in the slick wetness, became weightless if just for a second and existed only moment-to-moment, leaving rational thought behind.

My heart began to slow, so I kept remembering the good in my life, let the pleasure of my past adventures and excitement stream through me until I was back inside my own head, able to turn the car on and shakily make my way home. Upon entering the house, I didn't stop to undress, instead fell into bed fully clothed, and was out, dead for all intents and purposes. For this, I was grateful.

***

The next few weeks were rushed with monotony. I studied for my exams, though I needn't have, really--Eric's blood had given me an intense appetite for reading and a photographic memory. Upon finishing my last law book, having read cover-to-cover, I found I could call back specific lines in paragraphs, down to the page. So when I should have been busy, desperately trying to push every fact possible into my crazed mind, I was bored, had too much time on my hands, time that was spent rehashing the nights I'd had with Eric. I thought back on his touch, his words and actions--they'd seemed so real, so genuine. And I thought I could read people so well, so easily--that I could catch anyone in a lie. Guess not.

I went through the motions of everyday life; meeting Jess for study sessions, going shopping, getting groceries, but no matter what I did, the world became more and more gray every endless day. I didn't know where my apathy was coming from, and I couldn't help but indulge in it, allow it to cover me like a film of cigarette smoke. I breathed it in, allowed it to settle inside of me until I started questioning the need to shampoo my hair. Work returned to its boring pace; no vampire princes trying to figure me out or sweep me off my feet. The vampires were polite, business-like. I was used for what I was, a breathing food source, and nothing more. Their cold hands held my neck, my shoulders and they drank carefully, economically. I slid away from each encounter hating myself that much more.

So it was on a normal, nothing day, almost three weeks after Eric had bedded and bailed on me that an odd letter arrived. I'd spent the morning lazily, lying in bed, wondering whether I should actually work my last night at the hotel, or call out on my shift. I'd finished my last exams carelessly, knowing every answer I scribbled was right, a copy of the textbook sentences down to the punctuation. My apartment was packed completely; I was waiting to leave that weekend, to go back to Rhode Island and prepare for the bar. I got out of bed around two and saw a few letters next to my door. I frowned; I hadn't heard the mailmen slip them through the slot. I picked up the first envelope and slit it open, groaning out loud when I saw the address. It was from my bank, containing what I expected to be the first arrangement of payment for my student loans. I scanned the letter for a few seconds before it fluttered out of my hand, landing on the floor like a paper snowflake; I repeated the last sentence of the message in my head with disbelief: We thank you very much for paying off your loan with us _in full._ We appreciate your loyalty and hope you choose us for your banking needs in the future.

I joined the paper on the floor a few seconds later. When I could feel my knees again, I walked stiffly to my phone, called Randy, thanked him for employing me and regretfully informed him that I would be unable to go to work that evening. After that, I called my bank, asked if there had been a mix-up, but was rebuffed when I asked _how _over $100,000 had been transferred from an account that couldn't have possibly had my name on it.

"I'm sorry," the over-cheerful voice said on the other end of the line. "But we aren't at liberty to give the name on the account."

"But it's _my_ account--how did someone access it in the first place?"

"I'm sorry, but I honestly can't discuss this. Is there anything else I can help you with today?" With that, I hung up the phone and toyed with the idea of throwing it against the wall. I was so wrapped up in my own confusion that I didn't notice the sun go down around me, or the soothing calm that was spun inside of me, relaxing me from the tips of my toes up. I paced around my apartment, avoiding boxes, and tried to figure out the identity of my mystery benefactor. The sound of the doorbell stopped me in my tracks, though, and I went to answer it, unsure of whom it could be. Jess and I had said our goodbyes the night before.

"Yeah?" I answered, swinging the door in toward me so I could peer out into the darkness.

"Hello, Elliot," a deep male voice replied. The figure stepped under the brightness of my weak porch light, illuminating his flaxen hair and strong features. He towered over me, even while slouching slightly to fit under my porch roof.

Eric.


	7. Chapter 7

The night air had a bit of a chill to it, and I wore only a thin tank top and shorts. I went completely cold, though, when I saw who stood in front of me.

Eric.

My mind flung expletives together in complex chains that wouldn't ever be carried through my vocal chords, but I enjoyed their presence just the same. What was he doing here? What could he possibly want from me now? Though I felt nauseous at the sight of him, my body's reaction was entirely the opposite. His presence was calming, sent a soothing rush of serenity and pleasure through me, putting to rest the odd apathetic mood that had been hanging around me like a second skin. The schism inside me deepened when he came closer, looked down at me like he had the first night we kissed. The silent internal battle froze my body, kept me static in the doorframe, unable to react.

"Going to let me in? Eric asked as he pulled me out of the way, turned me to the side so he could angle past me, like mist on the wind, its fingers brushing past my cheek, through my hair, against my scalp so I shivered, feeling the effect of him down my back, a strange mix of need and anger. I turned back to the night once he was inside, looked at the sky and the building across from me until I couldn't distinguish one shape from another, until they formed a murky pool of nothing before my eyes. They regained their outline, their textures when Eric grabbed my elbow, shaking everything back into focus. The clarity in front of me gave little comfort; I'd become myopic, focused solely on his touch. But I wrenched away from him as if he'd burnt me, though he would never hold enough heat to do so.

"Let's talk." Eric said, motioning me back into the house. His voice wasn't the giving one I'd come to know. These words were empty, bored.

"Now you want to talk?" I said quietly, slamming the door behind me, satisfied with the loud thud it made. "Well, you already fucked me. What else could you possibly need?"

"Charming."

"Were you expecting a welcoming party?"

"It would have been a nice touch." Eric took my arm again, led me into my own living room, where we sat on the couch, facing one another. I scooted back until I was up against the soft cloth of the arm, the farthest away I could get from him without sitting on the floor.

"What do you want, Eric?"

"How have you been, Elliot?" He crossed his leg, letting his foot rest on his knee so it was parallel to the floor, and went still, which made me itch to move; to lick my lips, scratch at my collarbone, to fidget like a child. Instead, I folded my hands in my lap, tilted my head and raised my eyebrows, forming the most condescending facial expression I could make.

"I've been well, thank you. And you?" If he was going to start this game, I could play with the best of them. Women are the masters of mind games, anyway. I was annoyed, though, that he wasn't reading clearly to me. His body was languid, relaxed, as was his face. Either he'd been brilliant at acting vulnerable the first time we'd met, or he was actively denying me any visible clues now.

"Bored." He replied. That same hardness in his voice solidified the truth his words.

"That's a shame." I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was early; Eric had all night to do whatever it was he wanted with me. He surveyed the room as I spoke, taking in the boxes and labels.

"Going somewhere?"

"Home. I'm taking the bar back there." Why was I telling him this? Why was he _asking?_

"Convenient," he murmured, almost as an afterthought, speaking to himself.

"What do you mean?" I was getting angry now; he was playing with me, a cat circling its prey. I couldn't let myself get backed into a corner.

"Going to live with your parents while you study for the bar?"

"They're dead," I lied, holding back a wince.

"Not bad, for a human." he smirked, the corners of his mouth jumping up. He knew he was winning, that I was bluffing. I decided to play dumb.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Really? Because I'm sure Lynn and Kevin Hunt would be surprised to hear their daughter say that."

Shit. This was bad. How did he find out about them? I used a pseudonym at work and got paid under the table so no trace of the hotel could ever be associated with me.

"But, I guess they'd also be surprised to find out that their little darling was a whore to vampires, parading around as Miss Elliot Smith. Nice name choice, by the way." I wanted to slap the self-satisfaction off his face, out of his voice. He'd violated me, and then did the same to my privacy.

"Leave my parents out of this," I snarled, over-enunciating each word. "Doing what I did, being a whore--your whore, I might add, was the only way I could put myself through law school."

"Touching. I wonder though, what kind of job opportunities you'd have if people found out what you've been doing down here."

"You--" I stuttered, choking on anger and hate, "You fucking monster." He was threatening my livelihood and the reputation of my parents--but for what? He wanted me for something, badly enough to go after my family for it. For me. "Don't you have any honor?"

"It's overrated," He said, looking bored. "I have a proposition for you. Take it, and no one will ever know what you did down here."

"And if I don't?" He leaned forward, toward me, invading my personal space to show that he was the one with the power and that I was backed into a corner, literally and figuratively. The soft light from my overhead lamp shadowed his strong features so they were softer, almost delicate, and cast a glow that made his skin look warm. His hard eyes were the sole indicator of the malignance under his angelic exterior. His mouth opened, just a sliver, but I saw that his fangs were out. Again, I realized that this was the true version of Eric: the ruthless predator. His human appearance was merely a façade used to lure the unsuspected in. I'd fallen for it. Hook, line and sinker.

"I will ruin your life, and that of everyone you care about."

"What do you want?" My body shook, but my voice was steady, if a bit soft.

"Work for me fore one year, and I will let you go with no further stipulations."

"Doing what? I was getting hoarse, fighting back an ache in my throat that squeezed at my esophagus and tightened my chest. I wouldn't give into it. I wouldn't cry.

"I need a more competent day coordinator. I own a bar. You'd be arranging our live bands, overseeing deliveries, and hiring new staff. And some nights, you'll work or just be present to gauge the atmosphere, see who might be there for the wrong reasons."

"Why do you want me there? What's the point?"

"You're good with people. I can see that. And no one who interviewed for the job had anything approaching common sense."

"What do I tell my parents? Hey, I was coming home, but now I think I'll stay in a state I've complained about for three years?"

"I don't care what you tell them. It's not my problem." He leaned back, made himself comfortable on the couch. "So. What's your answer?"

The room was spinning out of control and I was being looped around, faster and faster until I pulled apart, emotions and thoughts collapsing into a jumbled mess. I had to protect my parents, couldn't break their hearts about my job--but my life was slipping away in front of me. Eric would absorb me, spit me out and never think twice. I had to do it, had to protect my future, my dreams.

"I'll do it," I said. Eric started to stand, but I put a finger up and remained seated. "I have a few terms."

"Oh?" He spoke to me like a child. Patronizing bastard.

"What's the name of the bar?"

"Fangtasia." I snorted. How kitschy.

"You need to make sure when I get paid, it won't be traced back to you or the bar. Ever. And do you have a law firm that represents you in…" I realized I had no idea where Eric was from. "Where do you live?"

"Shreveport, Louisiana. And yes, I have a lawyer."

"You're going to call that lawyer and have me put on the payroll, as well as the directory. If one of my parents calls the office, you need to make sure everyone in the staff knows who I am, even if every time they call, I'm busy or not there. I can't be found out."

"Done." He stood, and this time I didn't stop him. "Let's go." He motioned for me to follow him, but I didn't move.

"Go where?"

"Louisiana. We have a flight to catch." His calm demeanor only stoked the fire of my aggression. I hated him so deeply in that second that looking at him, at his perfect body and face, knowing that he'd been inside of me, tasted me (and I, him) tied my stomach in knots, allowing the acid there to seep out until it coated everything in my body.

"What about my apartment? My car?"

"I've already called associates to pack up your apartment and drive your car down. But we must go. I suggest you change," he said, taking in my skimpy outfit of pajama shorts and a tank top with almost cartoonish disgust.

"Sorry," I fumed. "I didn't expect to be forced into servitude today. Had I known, I would have dressed appropriately. Then again, chains are hard to find on such short notice." Eric just stared at me, the way one does when examining a bug.

"Fuck you," I muttered as I strode past him to change in my room.

"What was that?" he called to my retreating back.

"Sorry," I said, then yelled back, louder, "Fuck you!" With that, I slammed my bedroom door and pulled jeans and a very light sweater out of an open suitcase. They were only slightly wrinkled, and I could have cared less right then about making any sort of impression on anyone. I snatched my ipod from where it had been charging on its dock, stuffed it into my purse and went back to the living room.

"Ready?" I nodded. "Leave your keys in the mailbox." I walked out the door, took a last look into the apartment, my home, and started when I saw a limo waiting in the driveway. Eric, seeing that I hadn't followed his orders, snatched the key lanyard that had been hanging limply from my wrist and put it in the mailbox at the end of the driveway before opening the door to the limo and motioning for me to get in. My steps were slow and stiff, like I'd forgotten how to walk. Internally, I was screaming, shouting as loudly as I could that this was not right, this was not fair. I'd been had, then enslaved. My breath started to come quicker and before I could touch the car door, steady myself with its stable metal, spots obscured my vision and the blood that ran through me pounded in my ears. I faltered, then my knees buckled. I hit the ground hard, scraping my palms, jeans and knees against the rough asphalt. For a moment, or an hour, I stared a the ground beneath me until I was yanked up by my arm and gracelessly shoved into the limo.

"Ow," I grimaced, dazed, looking at my hands. Some skin had been torn off entirely, showing the shiny pink layer underneath. Blood bubbled to the surface while I watched, and Eric, who had gotten in on the other side so he face me, reached out to take my hand.

"No," I hissed, pulling it back into my body. Not me. Ever again. He just sat back and studied me for a long moment.

"We'll see."

The ride to the airport was short--I only lived 10 minutes away, but we pulled into a private terminal, one I hadn't seen before. A few Cesna planes were parked outside, but we pulled directly into the hangar, where a banner greeted us: Welcome to Anubis Air.

It didn't take long to load Eric's coffin into the puddle-jumper that would be taking s to Louisiana, and I had no baggage, so the flight was prepping for take-off fifteen minutes after we got on. The inside held only four passenger seats; the rest had been ripped out, furnished with coffin holders in their stead. Eric didn't climb into his light-tight box, as I expected, but I remembered it was still night. Fantastic. I'd have the pleasure of his company during the flight. After the pilot came out and delivered the usual flying spiel, I went into my purse for my ipod, but found something else first; allergy medication I 'd stopped taking because it knocked me out so thoroughly I'd once slept for thirteen hours under its influence. I opened the bottle, spilled four pills into my palm (two more than the recommended dose. Oops.) and knocked them back with a dry swallow. My purse was gone from my lap by the time my hand left my mouth.

"What did you take?" Eric rifled through my bag before finding the prescription bottle. "What is this for?"

"The label's right there--" I pointed to the directions. He frowned at them, unsure of what they did, the medication they contained.

"Oh, yeah. You've probably never been around pharmaceuticals, huh? Pills outsmart the big, bad vampire." He gave my purse back to me, jaw tight.

"Don't push me, Elliot." His words were laced with quiet fury.

"Gonna fire me?" Sarcasm rolled off my own words. If he gave it, he could take it.

"This can be a mildly pleasant year, or the worst one you've ever had. You choose."  
He ignored me after that, faced forward and became still. Ten minutes passed and the pills hit my system, bringing me down a few notches so I almost melted into the chair. The plane shifted on its axis, though I knew it was really my inner ear sending me for a ride. I nodded a few times, teasing around the perimeter of sleep while my eyelids fluttered toward my cheeks. I let them fall, let myself give in to the chemicals that spread through me like a warm drink.

"Elliot," Eric shook my shoulder a little too hard so my head bobbed on my neck. With one eye opened into a slit, I peered out at him, his furrowed brow, then let go entirely into the blackness.

When I came back to reality, I was being shaken again, though this time the hands that gripped my shoulders were much smaller, though just as cold as Eric's.

"Wha?" I was groggy, unsure of where I was, or who with. I tried to open my eyes, but it proved difficult--they were stuck shut, filled with what felt like silt. I used my fingers to pry them open and rub them clear of debris; my sight was blurry, but there. The arms holding me were attached to a petite woman who was looking at me intently, almost amusedly. Her hair was long, blonde. She wore a crisp light blue polo and a pearl necklace, the very archetype of a second-grade teacher.

"Who are you?" I asked, trying to jerk away, out of her grasp, but it did little more than leave fingertip-shaped bruises on my shoulders.

"Sit still," a voice beside me said. Eric. The events of the night came back to me, and I sagged under the woman's hands, back into the supportive leather behind me. She loosened her grip, slid her fingers through my hair, lifted a lock to her nose and inhaled deeply.

"She has nice hair," the woman commented, taking her hands off me entirely. I felt my eyes widen, then narrow, and my mouth pulled up into a sneer. What was I, a puppy she was inspecting to be bred?

"Careful, Goldilocks. I bite too." God, when my mouth opened, it went big. But I hid behind the bluff, squared my jaw and kept my gaze level on her flawless face.

"Feisty," she said, appraising me again with what could almost pass for a smile. "I may have to borrow you from Eric sometime."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I retorted. I wasn't going to show fear while in a tank filled with sharks. They wouldn't have the satisfaction of my blood in their water. Eric turned to me, then the woman.

"Behave, Pam." It was a gentle rebuke, one made not for her sake, but mine. Now he was protecting me? The guy had more settings than a blender.

"You'll be staying at my house tonight, Elliot, until I can get you an apartment. I said nothing, ignored his voice completely.

"We're going to Fangtasia first," Pam purred, her voice like honey in he heat; languid, rich, though something told me she wasn't quite so sweet.

"I'm so thoroughly prepared to go clubbing," I grumbled, sounding like a six-year-old who'd been denied a cookie.

"I think I may have something in the back that would fit you." Pam's eyes raked over my body, making sure to take in the few curves I had.

"Great." I rolled my eyes. "Going to help me to put it on, too?"

"If you want." She moved her gaze to Eric. "And here I thought you were going to bring back a southern belle."

"Hardly," I said, my words stiff. "And you're not exactly the purest of English roses." Pam concentrated on me again, intrigued. She cocked her head, got closer to me so slowly she almost slithered.

"How did you know I'm English?"

"I lived there for a year. You hold out your 'r's and pronounce your 't's. We swallow the t sound in the north, and neither is a trait of the south."

"Huh." Pam said, a noncommittal noise that belied nothing. Her mask was good. She spoke again, in a language I didn't understand but assumed was Swedish. Assholes. Eric smirked, and I was beginning to suspect it was his favorite expression. I closed my eyes to keep from screaming, but didn't know how long I could go before I erupted. Luckily, the car stopped in front of a building that cast a red glow into the street. Written in gaudy script, a neon sign glared above the front doors: Fangtasia.

"Lovely." My words were dry as the Sahara; both vampires caught my tone.

"Come," Eric said, pushing me toward the door. I fumbled with the handle until I finally connected with the handle and spilled out into the night. I breathed in large gulps, pulled the air in and held my hands to my side, glad to be out of confined spaces. Before I could help myself, tears started falling. I pivoted on my heel, away from the car and jumped when my back pocket buzzed. I pulled my ringing phone out and saw it was my mom.

Could the night get worse?

"Hey mom," I said, trying to muffle the tears in my voice.

"Hey sweetie. You alright?"

"Yeah, mom." I scraped my hand across my eyes. "You'll never guess what happened!"

"What, Elliot?"

"I got a job offer as a clerk until I pass the bar!" My mom gasped, excited for my nonexistent job opportunity.

"What firm?" I turned around, ashamed of the wetness on my face as I mouthed to Eric 'what firm?' He was at my side in a second, whispering in my ear.

"Pierce and Heed," he said, before licking my ear. My arm shot out, pushed him away and fresh tears formed in my eyes. I repeated the name into the phone and my mom congratulated me.

"It's in Louisiana," I said, biting my lip so hard it throbbed, warm and sharp.

"Wow." She was disappointed. "So you're not coming home?"

"I wish I could, mom, but this job could do so much for me."

"I know, Elliot. I just miss you is all." I choked, and it was a few seconds before I could speak again.

"I'll visit, mom. I promise. But I have to go, Jess and I are going out for a celebration drink."

"Alright, honey. I love you. Cal me in the morning?"

"I will. Love you too, mom. Goodbye." I ended the call and sank to my knees for the second time that day, in the middle of the parking lot. My hands went to my head, clawed at the hair above my ears. I dug my nails into my scalp, unable to focus on anything because the world had just fallen away, leaving me alone with my tormenters. Two sets of hands pulled me up, and with their support, I stagger walked to the back door, then through what I assumed were offices at the back of the club. We came into a larger room that had a couch and a desk with various bottles of True Blood on it. They sat me down, let me go and I unfurled, laid sideways and stared at nothing, tears forming and falling from the corners of my eyes. I didn't hear them leave, but when I looked up, focused on the rather bare room, full of plain shelves, I saw that they were gone. I sat up on the couch and saw assorted alcohol paraphernalia; shirts, posters, boxes.

Pam clicked back into the room, her dramatic pumps announcing her arrival twenty paces before she actually got there. She held a green dress that shimmered softly, made of silk so expensive the material puddle, liquid in her hands. She stopped in front of me.

"Get up." I didn't move, tested the waters of her words instead.

"Get up, or I get you up. And dress you." She wasn't kidding.

"That's what you want? To play with your new human?" I stood up on shaking legs, pulling clothes off as I went. The sweater was lost first, balled up, then thrown across the room. Next came the tank top underneath; I reached for my belt, but she beat me to it, sliding it out of the loops on my pants. She shucked my jeans down, away from my skin. I stepped out of them and turned in a circle.

"Here are the goods, Pam." She took I my scantily-clad body and licked her lips. Her fangs were out slightly. I cupped my bra-clad breasts. "36 B," I said, then moved my hands to my hips. "Size six." I held my arms out straight. "A positive. Anything else you need to know?"

"No," She murmured, tracing a finger up my arm, over the long vein under my skin. "I think that will do it. Now, put this on." I took the hanger, unzipped the dress and pulled it over my legs.

"I'm a goddamn paper doll." The words were mumbled under my breath, but she heard them.

"Yeah," she deadpanned. "Now I have my very own Barbie. Wrong hair color, though."

I rolled my eyes, secured the halter strap behind my neck and allowed Pam to zip me up. The dress was slightly loose, but its exquisite design was forgiving. The black flats I had on matched closely enough, and after fluffing my hair a bit and putting on eyeliner, cat's-eye style, Pam deemed me acceptable enough to go out into the club. I followed her lead, taking her hand so I wouldn't get lost as we passed through the back into the actual bar and weaved through a sea of people. She glanced back at me, but said nothing. We arrived at the bar, where a female bartender was looking at a couple of tourists, bored to tears with their ignorant questions and interests. I frowned at them, but they only had eyes for her. When they asked where she'd been turned, she excused herself and came over to where Pam and I stood.

"This is Elliot," Pam explained, speaking normally, though the music was so loud and bass-heavy I would have had to shout to be understood. "The new day manager." The bartender nodded at me, and I got a closer look at her. She was pretty, had olive skin and liquid black eyes. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, but still almost made its way to her butt.

"Tonight," Pam continued, "She has whatever she wants, on the house." I narrowed my eyes, started to ask Pam why, but she was gone, and I was left surrounded by strangers.

"Fantastic," I muttered to myself. The place was packed, and I was in no mood for a crowd. I leaned over the bar and smiled at the woman.

"Can I have a double vodka and cranberry, please? She nodded, swishing her ponytail. Its shine was intense; she had the kind of hair I'd always dreamed of, smooth as silk. I was stuck with wavy hair that did whatever it pleased. She handed me the drink a minute later, her hands as cold as the glass. I tipped it back and gulped continuously until it was gone, then repeated with a fresh drink. I turned around, pushed away from the bar and felt the effects of the alcohol almost immediately--I'd forgotten that I hadn't eaten anything all day. Someone must have spilled their drink earlier, because I stepped into something wet; the drinks didn't help my balance, and after a split second of 'Oh, shit, I'm actually going to fall' realization, I was hurtling toward the floor. Hands caught me around the waist, and I looked up into the friendly face of an attractive, California-looking blonde man.

"Thanks," I said, gratefully. "Falling would have been tremendously annoying."

"Glad to save you the frustration," he smiled, still holding onto me. His temperature told me he wasn't a member of the living.

"I'm Josh," he said, and let me go as I found my footing and stood up straight. He stuck his hand out. Funny, I'd never seen a vampire shake anyone's hand before.

"Elliot." I took his hand, though, and he brought it to his lips, laying a light kiss on the skin.

"You're not local," he observed, inching a bit closer.

Fuck.

"No, I'm from New York," It was sort of close, regionally. "The city."

"What brings you down here?" He asked, and I went blank. What was I supposed to say? Well, Josh, I'm here, being held against my will because a psycho vampire has gone to the trouble of blackmailing me for no apparent reason?

Probably not.

"Just…looking around," I covered, lamely. I needed a distraction, something that would keep him from latching onto my vague, shifty explanation.

"Want to dance?" I asked, saying the first thing that popped into my head.

His eyes gleamed; my ruse worked.

"Yeah." He offered his arm; I took it and led him too the dance floor, scanning the room as I went, taking in a plethora of sights. Humans in barely-there clothes, vampires intoxicated by the living's pounding hearts, their pulsing blood. Both fed their various addictions; danger, excitement for the humans, who sought the supernatural tales they'd learned as children, and the vampires with their insatiable lusts for blood and sex. Josh and I found a free patch on the dance floor, and he moved with me, back and forth to the tempo. I lifted my arms, rolled my hips like I'd learned from the belly-dancing class I'd taken, and let him get closer so he could brush my hair from my shoulders, trace down my back and run his hands up my arms. He danced behind me, hands on my hips, and we flowed together rhythmically, until I felt him pull away. I turned to see what the problem was, and took a step back. Eric was there. He took a step closer, offered his hand and addressed both of us.

"Mind if I cut in?"


	8. Chapter 8

Josh looked at Eric, then back at me before he dropped my hands and stepped away. "Of course, Eric." Before I could contribute anything to the decision, he'd turned and streaked away, into the crowd, as fast as inhumanly possible, though he looked back at me, surprised. I guess chivalry isn't top priority to vampires. Eric paid no attention, kept his focus on me and held his arm out, waiting for me to take it.

"Shall we?"

I felt the burn of being watched and looked around the room; humans were not so subtly glancing at Eric and I, looking away, then peering back, a dance that kept them from staring outright, but their attempt at being furtive was a failure. They were obviously paying attention to what was going on. The vampires were openly staring, made no attempt to shield their interest. I think they waited for a confrontation, for blood to be spilt. From the level of respect paid to Eric by Josh, I understood that he was very powerful, someone to be feared. If I denied him this dance, his authority would be undermined by me, a human, the equivalent of a flea in the vampire world. I was sure I would live to regret the consequences of doing so, but I hated that my being human cast me as a second-class citizen. Grudgingly, I let him come closer, let his body envelop mine so our bodies almost touched, though, thankfully, the only contact we had was hand-to-hand. My eyes shut and I took a deep breath of air that tasted like cigarette smoke and his aftershave. I knew it would cling to me, stay on my clothes so even when I left his presence, he would stay with me, just on the periphery of my olfactory glands. His hand dropped mine, went to my waist and we glided to a slower tempo instrumental song that had come on; its melody was haunting, filled with the heart of violins and the soul of cellos. I smoothed the collar of his dark blue button-down and stood taller so I could whisper to him; to anyone looking, we were enjoying an intimate dance, and I was spilling sweet--or dirty--nothings into his ear.

"I'll keep up appearances, but know that I don't touch you willingly." My lips barely parted, and I couldn't hear my words, but he did.

"Ooh," he said, leading me in a simple step that kept time to the music. "Tough words for a little girl who was crying her eyes out an hour ago." He lifted my arm over my head and I spun under it, digging my nails into his hand in the process before stepping back into our starting position. Ice bloomed in my veins, formed a shield, something I'd built up over the years, had to have to save face at school and my job. I'd had a weak moment, broken down in front of him--but it was because he took my control away, something that had never abandoned--or been taken from--me before, even at the hotel. The vampires there were on my turf and fed publicly, allowing me to be in charge of every aspect of the transaction. But Eric had stripped me of my sovereignty, my agency and transformed me into a pawn. I hadn't reacted well, and I was embarrassed that he had seen, but I couldn't take it back. I could have challenged him, taken his words and turned them around to the nights he'd spent with me, spoken to me and touched me gently, taken flight with me so we kissed among the stars, the wind moving around us, keeping us weightless. But to mention that now would be overplaying my hand; I had to figure out why he'd acted that way, then strike the nerve beneath it. I would bide my time, wait for the right moment.

"You're right," I said, reaching up with my gaze so I stared directly into his eyes. "I had a moment of weakness. But I'll get through this. You, on the other hand, wouldn't last a month."

"And why's that?" We circled around the floor, but the other dancers gave us a wide breadth. Eric didn't seem to be having a hard time dancing and speaking, but I was counting the steps, unwilling to trip or make a mistake in front of all the witnesses, human and vampire alike, who were still staring.

"You're too proud to keep your head down, to lay low. You'd be that wild animal that throws itself against the bars of its cage until it's dead, or broken."

"Better dead than subservient." He pressed me in, up, then backed up so we were at arms length.

"Better alive than undead." I smiled widely, bending back smoothly into the dip he'd lowered me into.

"You enjoy being food?" I came back up, my hair falling forward past my shoulders in front of me. I was inches from his face.

"I did what I had to do. And if I'm so insignificant, just a heartbeat and blood, why are you playing with me?"

"I'm getting some use out of you." My mouth snapped shut, teeth clicked and ground against each other. His lips moved, he said something, but the words eluded me because of the music. He must have said Pam's name, though, because she arrived at his side as if out of nowhere. She'd changed, put on a red corset and black skin-tight leather pants.

"Yes?" she asked, looking bored with her hand on her hip and one leg jutted out in front of the other, the image of a goth supermodel.

"Take over for me. I'll be escorting Elliot home."

"Have fun." Pam said, talking to me. She winked and proved that the gesture could be made lascivious. I just shook my head and started toward the back entrance of the bar but was stopped by Eric, who directed me toward the front door. I went ahead of him, weaved through a crowd of people trying to forget themselves on the dance floor and didn't look back until I pushed the door open, leaving the noise and bustle behind me. The parking lot was illuminated by bright headlights attached to a car parked beside the building; they obscured everything, leaving me blind in their almost blue-tinted light. Eric came out and nodded at me to follow him to the lit car. When I walked out of the illumination's range, I saw that it was a cherry-red Corvette, a car after my own heart.

I misjudged the height of the seats when Eric unlocked the car; I sat, expecting the cushion to be higher than it was, lost my balance and fell unceremoniously onto my ass inside the vehicle. Eric glanced at me, amused, but I just turned my head, pressed myself against the door and window. Childish? Yes. But I figured if he was allowed to behave badly, I should be able to as well.

"Here," Eric said, and I felt something light land in my lap. I looked down, strained my eyes in the dark, at what appeared to be a strip of cloth. When I ran my hands over it, found an elastic that connected the long bit of fabric, turned it into a circle, I realized what it was.

"Put it on."

"You're kidding me." The response had no fight; I was in disbelief. He couldn't be serious.

"I can't trust you yet not to lead threats back to my home during the day." He looked pointedly at the blindfold I held, turned the car on let the engine idle while he stared at me, waiting for my compliance. I gave up, yanked my hair out of the way and secured it into place, letting out a huff of air before crossing my arms and legs, closing off every aspect of my body to him. I heard him shift the car into drive and pull up to what I assumed was the end of the lot; music came on, high-pitched voices murmuring and chanting in a language so foreign the words themselves sounded like music. He took a left, and I concentrated on his navigation. I figured that most songs were around three-and-a-half minutes, so his music would tell me how long we'd driven. All I had to do was memorize the turns. Two songs in, he took a right, then a left about thirty seconds after that. He went straight the rest of the way, the length of four more songs. So the entire trip lasted about twenty minutes. I hoped I would be able to remember it. When we stopped, he told me I could take the blindfold off; I tugged it down so it wound around my neck, the parody of a necklace. The house all but took my breath away; it was huge, the rolling mansion you imagine the south to be famous for. When I got out, I toed loose gravel, the kind that enunciates your step no matter how lightly you walk.

"There's no food in the house for you," Eric said from behind me. I'd already made my way to the house, drawn to its old elegance. "My maid will pick some up for you if you leave a list."

"Fine," I said, waiting for him on the porch. He came up beside me, unlocked the door to a castle, a home I'd only ever dreamed of. Though I guess anyone would be rich after having had over 1,000 years to accumulate wealth. _Old_ money. I almost laughed out loud. He ushered me inside and I was surprised at the simplicity of the decoration; everything in the house, the dark varnished wood, marble staircase, antique statues and furniture, screamed expensive, but nothing was over the top, as Fangtasia had been with its dichromatic design of red and black. The ceilings were high, and the foyer was as big as my apartment. I kept an unenthused air, though. I wouldn't give Eric anything, not even the knowledge that I though his place was beautiful.

"Come," he said, striding down a straight hallway that led from the front room into a high-ceilinged central area. The house was set up so the main room on each floor (how many that was, I didn't know) was a sort of atrium, encircled by smaller open rooms. The walls were fitted with dark-stained wooden shelves, filled with books, thousands of them, stacked neatly.

"Sit," Eric said, without looking back, before continuing on down a hall to the left of me.

I did, on a blue couch with gold detailing, but forgot myself and went to examine his library up close. I ran my fingers over the spines, picked out Gogol, Hemingway, Kerouac, and many others I'd never heard of. The majority looked like they were first editions.

"I thought I told you to sit." Eric appeared next to me, and I jumped.

"You did," I replied, after my heart remembered to beat again. I left him, went back to couch, and he sat opposite, in an overstuffed chair that had intricate braided carvings on its wooden legs.

"So, what did you think of my bar?"

"I thought it was pathetic." I wasn't going to lie to preserve his feelings. They would have had to exist for me to do so, anyway. "The saddest dregs of humanity come into a public place where they can gawk at vampires relatively safely, and get ripped off by over-expensive drinks and souvenirs. The vampires are just putting on a show and degrading themselves for the oh-so-inferior humans." Eric didn't say anything, so I kept going. "Which, by the way is called hypocrisy. Humans make you your money, and you feed, as has been experienced, from the willing. So as much as you disdain the race, you're dependent upon us."

"Now," He dug his heels into the carpet, lifted his hips and adjusted his pants before looking back at me. "Tell me how you really feel." I didn't reply. I was tired of being on my toes, of having to be hyper alert to keep up with him, of maintaining an unperturbed façade.

"If that's all," I said, standing, "I'd like to go to bed now."

"Go down the hall," he nodded at the one he'd walked through before, "the room is the second on the left."

I walked away without another word, followed his directions and found it easily. I opened the door the dark room, groped my hand up and down the wall until the light switch revealed itself to me and I flicked it on. A chandelier, dripping with crystal gave a soft glow that warmed the peach painted walls. Somehow, I didn't think Eric would have any pastels in his color palette. I shut the door softly behind me and went to the four poster bed that had white curtains on each side, a privacy I would be taking advantage of. A couch sat to the right of the bed, a delicate antique with silk upholstery and white wooden feet. A mirror, attached to a desk was at the other room, next to a door I assumed led to a bathroom. I laid back, spread my arms and fell asleep a few minutes later, fully clothed, with the lights on.

***

Someone stroked my arm, gently, tracing down from the inside of the elbow to my wrist.

"Mom?" I murmured, still mostly asleep.

"I don't think so," replied a voice, one I didn't know. My reflexes reacted and I sat up, fast, jerked my arm away and almost knocked the woman who'd been touching me off balance. I was awake instantly, caught her arm to steady her full hands; she carried a tray, and by smell I knew there was coffee present.

"Sorry, sorry," I said, holding my hands up in a peace offering. She rolled her eyes, but smiled good-naturedly.

"It's ok. I tried calling your name, but you were sleeping like the dead." She set the tray down on a small bedside table I hadn't noticed and held her hand out.

"I'm Claire. I work for Eric." I took her hand.

"Elliot," I said. "But I guess you already knew that." She smiled, but there was something like regret behind her eyes.

"Yeah, Eric filled me in." She ran a hand through her hair, a light blonde that was either natural or very expertly done, let it stop at her neck and left it there, a sign that she was uncomfortable. I looked at the tray, saw coffee and fruit that looked so fresh I began to salivate.

"Thanks for breakfast," I said, "I don't know how long I'm going to have to stay in Eric's house, but as long as I'm here, I can cook for myself. You don't have to go out of your way for me."

"Ok," appreciation filling her voice. "I went shopping this morning, so you should be fine for now." She jerked her head up, hit her hand to her forehead. "Which reminds me, Eric gave _you_ a to-do list for Fangtasia. Your car is here, but Eric has sent for a driver who'll will be picking you up in about an hour and a half."

I didn't bother arguing; she couldn't change what he had ordered. She seemed like a nice woman, sorry for my situation, but she gave no indication that her loyalty to Eric would waver. She left the typed instructions from Eric and started to leave.

"Claire?"

"Yeah?" She turned back.

"Are there any extra toiletries, or clothes? I really need to freshen up." Claire nodded, knowingly, and pointed to a bag by the door that hadn't been there last night.

"Eric said you'd find what you needed in there." she said, and left the room.

Great. Now I was Eric's dress-up doll. I opened the bag, hesitantly, expecting a monstrosity of tight pleather, but instead pulled out black slacks and a blazer, both expensively cut. The shirt that went under the jacket was sleeveless, a feminine play on a man's tuxedo shirt. All in all, the outfit was something I might have picked for myself. The bag also contained razors, deodorant and a brush; I put it all back and headed to the bathroom.

***

Forty minutes later, I wandered into the main hall of the house; sometime during the night, it had acquired an assortment of boxes that were neatly labeled--in my handwriting. There was no trace of Claire. I trailed my fingers over the first box--bedroom--but didn't open it; I didn't have time to unpack anything, and since this wasn't a permanent arrangement, why bother. Instead, I sat on the cardboard and picked at my cuticles, bored. I had gotten ready too quickly, and now I had fifty or so minutes to kill. I stared blankly into space when something Claire had said made me sit up straight, then get off the box entirely. _Your car is here. _There were two windows on either side of the foyer door, and I peeped through one of them into the driveway.

Jackpot.

I unzipped my purse, where I'd stuffed Eric's instructions, and fished out my cell phone. My GPS enabled cell phone. With the phone on silent, I typed in my destination and held my breath while the device found the corresponding satellite. When the words 'successfully connected' lit up the screen, I opened the door, taking it inch by inch, until I could squeeze through. My car was parked close, about twenty feet away, a distance I crossed on my tip-toes. The driver's side window was open, and my hunch was proven correct when I saw my keys dangling from the ignition. I didn't bother being too quiet after that because I was in the car a moment later, slamming the accelerator down so the car jumped to life immediately, leaving a trail of dust to waft through the air in my wake.


	9. Chapter 9

The car hummed powerfully under my control; I opened the windows, shot up to fifth gear and felt better than I had in weeks. The dry heat carried on the wind pushed my hair back, whipped through the car as I sped. It didn't matter that I was on my way to work for Eric. Right now, I was free from him, from his maddening control and threats. My phone buzzed at me, directed me to turn and I did, remembering the route from last night. I was giddy, high from breaking the rules, stepping outside the cage in which Eric had placed me. But the lightness inside evaporated as I drew closer to Fangtasia, was replaced with dread that chewed through the bottom of my stomach, making it cramp hollowly. There wasn't any traffic when I reached the brick building, a site that, during the day, was innocuous, not something anyone would look at twice. I pulled into the back lot, spying the entrance I'd come through last night. After parking neatly between two crisp white lines painted on the ground and turning the car off, I was at a loss at what, exactly to do. I didn't have a key to the building, and didn't know if there was anyone actually in the building--or if they'd let me in. After sitting idly in my car, which had taken on the temperature of an oven, I decided, fuck it; I'd just go knock. I got out of the car, smoothing down my shirt and jacket, before approaching the door confidently, though I doubted anyone would be looking, and pressed the doorbell next to the back entrance. A distant buzz echoed inside, and I took my finger off the button. And waited. All was silent for so long I wondered if I should just turn around, tail between my legs, and wait for someone to show up, when the soft but distinct tap of heels against a hard floor and the door opened, revealing a blonde woman, somewhere around forty, who ogled me with such feeble authority I almost rolled my eyes.

"I'm Elliot," I said, in my best 'professional' voice. "The new--"

"Day manager," she filled in, her mouth spreading widely in a smile that creased her entire face, reminiscent of a puppy looking up at its owner, waiting for an obliging stroke on its belly. She just seemed…off.

"I'm Ginger." She shifted in the doorway, allowing me to slide past her into the cool, moist air of the building.

"I wasn't expecting you for another half hour," she said, as I waited for her to pass me, to lead me into the front of the building.

"Well," I said, taking in her outfit of a skirt that could have been a belt and a bandeau top made of an odd plastic material that showed the outline and shape of her breasts, "I wanted to get here a little early and take care of business."

"That's nice." It didn't seem to be sarcastic, but I couldn't be sure. We'd reached the bar, having passed through the storeroom and a main office. She smiled again and disappeared into the back; I took the folded list and read the first item.

(1) Oversee bar delivery, restock as necessary.

Easy enough; I'd worked in enough restaurants during my time, so I was familiar with unloading shipments. I'm sure Eric knew that as well, along with my shoe size, voting and driving record, which of my teeth had been filled, the color of my first car, and anything else that could give him a sort of edge over me.

"When is the delivery supposed to be here?"

"About an hour," Ginger said, walking back into the room with a broom and dustpan in tow. She swept with vigorous strokes, tottering on her heels, making me nervous for her./ I turned away, looked back at the list.

(2) Check souvenirs, fill out re-order sheet.

(3) Call the Shreveport Citizen to make sure our weekly ad is still on the printing list. Number is in the rolodex in main office, under 'S.'

I glowered at the typed words. Really? Shreveport would be under S? I was a law-school graduate, not a first-grade drop out. Even if he had 1,100 years on me, I could still spell.

(4) Make copies of flyer located on main desk in the manila folder labeled 'flyer.' Directions to local Staples are in with the flyer.

That ended the list, and I pulled my cell phone out to check the time. It was almost one o'clock, meaning I had about five or so hours until Eric would be up. Five hours to do four very simple things.

"Way to insult my intelligence, Eric," I muttered, wanting to crumple the paper in my hands and toss it across the room. Instead, I stuffed it back into my bag.

"Whadja say?" Ginger asked, coming up from under a table where she'd been…dusting, I guess. Her bleached hair was in her eyes.

"Nothing, Ginger. Sorry." I stalked back to the office, opened the door and went to the desk that was neat, bare except for the aforementioned rolodex and folder. I flipped through the numbers until I found the number to the paper, which I dialed from the phone that was pushed to the corner, and took in the chair behind the desk, a monstrous affair built for a king (or at least someone king sized), upholstered in a rich red velvet; it made my lip curl back into a sneer as I shook my head at the offending piece of furniture. Who did Eric think he was? I sighed, lowered myself into the seat and felt it give into my weight. I felt like a child sitting at the adult's table.

"Shreveport citizen, advertising, how can I help you?" I'd forgotten about the phone held next to my ear and jumped at the male voice before collecting myself.

"Hello, this is Elliot Smith, calling from Fangtasia?" I figured I'd stick with the alias I'd had in Texas; I'd grown familiar with it, responded to it when called.

"Yes?" Whoever was on the other line had grown considerably cooler. Vampires. The most divisive subject on the planet.

"I'm just calling to confirm the weekly ad will be running this week?"

"Fangtasia," he said, voice dry. "Come alive after dark. Would that be the one?"

How was I supposed to know? "Yes," I replied. "That'll be the one."

"You're all set, then. It'll be the usual three by five on the second page."

"Great, tha--" I tried to thank him, but I'd been greeted with a dial tone. "Asshole."

I got up from the chair and went back to the front of the bar. I hadn't really had a chance to look around last night. The main room was large, with various tables and a few couches spread evenly-spaced apart before it opened up to a dance floor that neared the back. Next to the front door was a coat check; on the other side was the souvenir stand. Behind that, steps led up to a sort of stage that had a main floor with a large chair, like the one in Eric's office, with a few smaller chairs next to it. The stage extended into a small VIP area that held more couches and a smaller dance area. I wrinkled my nose; how elitist: look, but don't touch.

I slid behind the bar, which Ginger was washing down with a wet cloth. The coolers behind were full, but the ice bins needed to be filled. There wasn't much to replace, a few cases of Corona here, Budweiser there, and maybe a bottle or two of scotch and vodka. As looked at the almost-full canister of vodka, I shuddered, feeling the caustic liquid crawl down my back; it was one alcohol that bit back. The storeroom was semi-empty, but what needed to be refilled was there, and I carried it out, case-by-case, feeling overdressed for the task. I slipped off the suit jacket and smoothed my hair back into a ponytail, took a breather, and went back to the task. When I finished, I sat down at the bar and leaned on my elbow to catch my breath.

"You look winded," Ginger called. I jumped at her voice, turned around to see her lounging at a table.

"Yeah," I breathed, irritated. "The cases are heavy." She nodded in agreement. I tilted my head. "What else do you have to do?"

"Oh, nothing really," she said, stretching in the chair in which she sat. "I just like to be here. I don't need to even really come in until four."

"What time did you come in?"

"Noon." She lifted her hands in front of her, gestured to the room around us. "I just like to be around them, even when they aren't here."

"Ah," I had to keep from shaking my head. Ginger didn't seem like a real person; it was like she didn't exist until a vampire was around for her to serve. I assured myself I was nothing like that, then felt bad for using her to make myself feel better. The feeling was excised quickly enough, though, when the back door rang. I unlocked it, opened the door and saw a semi-truck parked in the lot. The man in front of me was big, but not overweight, dressed neatly enough in a button-down shirt and jeans; I smiled and let him in, noticing that his eyes went up and down my body, stopping on my chest. When I turned to allow him in to unload, I'm sure he checked out my butt as well.

He handed me the inventory list; I waited for him to bring everything in, which took six trips back and forth. He pulled his copy of the delivery from a back pocket and began to read off; his voice wasn't quite steady, and I caught his peering around nervously, like someone was going to pull him into a dark corner and drain him dry, though it was the middle of the day. Odd.

"Eight cases of Bud," he said, pointing to the boxes on the bottom. I nodded, checked them off.

"Six of Hoegaarten." Nod, check. We found a pattern, and I signed with a flourish when we'd finished. I escorted him out, and it wasn't until he'd pulled away from the lot that I took a look at the price list of the alcohol; it seemed to be too much, especially for the south. I frowned at the paper; something was off.

"Ginger," I called, coming out of the office with the flyer and my keys, "Is there a package store on the main street anywhere? I'm headed off to make copies."

"Package store?" I shook myself mentally for having dropped a New England word.

"Liquor store?"

"Oh, sure," she tilted her head, thinking. "Actually, it' right near the Staples, on the corner. But if you want a drink, why don't you just get one here?"

"Oh, it's not that; I just want to check something out."

"Alright then. See you later."

"Bye," I returned, walking out into the bright light of the day. It had gotten hotter, and I felt stifled in my clothes. With the air conditioning on full blast, I drove down the street past Fangtasia, and was on main street a few minutes later; the directions were simple: left, right, right. I turned into Staples parking lot and went in, silently thanking whoever had invented air conditioning as it blew over me in a gust. I dropped the flyer off and was told it would take ten minutes; with that time, I went to the corner of the street walked into the liquor store that was there, just as Ginger had promised.

"Hello," I said to the older man behind the counter. He sat up straighter when I offered my hand. He took it, and shook gently, like my fingers would have fallen off had he grasped firmly.

"Well, hey there."

"My name's Alicia Sider, I'm a representative for Eight Straight distribution up in Vermont; do you think it would be possible if I could look at your delivery costs and see if my company could save you a little money?"

He looked at me closely, but broke into a smile.

"Well, sure, honey." I almost cringed at the pet name. "Do you have a business card I could keep?"

Oops. Thinking fast, I theatrically smacked my head.

"Oh, no," I slipped into 'airhead girl' mode. "I'm sorry, I forgot them at the hotel room. The heat down here is like nothing I've ever experienced before."

"From up north, then?"

"Born and raised. New Hampshire," I lied.

"Well, let me see if I can rustle up an invoice for you," he said, distracted, and disappeared into the back. "I'll get you a copy so you can keep it."

"Great," I called. When he came back, I told him I'd have a look over it when I got back to my hotel room, and would call him to see if I couldn't save him any money.

***

By the time I got back to Fangtasia with the copies, it was almost three. Time was speeding up on me, I guess. I sat down with the invoice of the delivery to Fangtasia and the one I'd just gotten, both from the same company, and saw that my suspicion had been right. Eric was being charged thirty cents more for each item than the man across town. It didn't seem like much, but added together, then multiplied by the amount Eric had probably bought over the years? I didn't want to think about the figure; it was probably more than I'd make in a year.

I dialed the distributor's number.

"Hello, Southwest Distribution, how can we help you?"

"Hi, this is Elliot Smith calling from Fangtasia?"

"Oh?" Again, the speaker, this time a woman, changed tone upon hearing the name 'Fangtasia.' What was it, the new Beatlejuice?

"Yes, I have a problem with the shipment."

"Hold please, I'll transfer you to a manager." Before I said anything else, the line buzzed with the atrocity that is muzac. After a few moments, though, a man answered.

"Yes, how can I help you?"

"I have an issue with the invoice from today's delivery."

"What's that?"

"Well," I said, purring into the phone, circling him like prey in my head. "My problem is that you're up charging my boss thirty cents to the unit."

"That's impossible," the man said, his voice oddly calm.

"Oh? Then why am I looking at an invoice from a business less than two miles away, human owned, that's missing the percentage increase?"

"How did you get someone else's invoice?"

"Doesn't matter. What does matter is what you're going to do about it."

"The charge must be a gas tax," he reasoned, trying to play dumb.

" Gas tax. For two miles? I don't think so. I think your company has something against vampires, and it's going to stop today."

"Yeah?" He was sneering now. "How?"

"USA Today, The Times, and whatever Podunk newspaper is nearest to you," I said, smiling. "Vampire discrimination, splashed across the front page. How many other people are you ripping off?"

"They're not people," he snarled. "They're vampires."

"And they're not who you should be afraid of," I hissed back, getting angry now. "It's the lawyers that will get you. Believe me, I will get your name in the papers if you don't fix your prices and refund us what you owe; it doesn't matter who you're doing this to--it's still against the law. Do you _know_ how quickly a grassroots campaign against could begin against you if I call a few people?"

The line had gone silent.

"That's what I thought." I leaned back into the throne that was imitating a chair and cleared my throat. "I assume you have our past transactions filed in a computer database somewhere?"

"Yes." He was angry. I enjoyed it, let his malice wash over me. I was doing the right thing, no matter whom it was for.

"Then I expect a check by the end of the month. No later, or you're going to find yourselves on the very bad side of the American Vampire League."

"Fine."

"Pleasure doing business with you," I said, and put the phone down. That had felt good. I went back to the front of the bar, smug, found the inventory form for the souvenirs, and went to work. Rifling through the shirts, I couldn't help but snigger at some of the logos and catchphrases. 'Fangtasia: We only bite if you ask…', or 'Come Alive with the Dead, Every Night,' and my favorite, 'Fangtasia, the Bar with Bite.' Who'd come up with these ridiculous lines? The rest was pretty basic; key chains, bottle openers, and, oddly enough, fake teeth. The job was done quickly enough.

***

I found myself sitting on the couch of the second back room, iphones in my ears, listening to the Arcade Fire, a favorite. I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply and thought of home, of the drive to my house. The last time I'd gone, I'd arrived at night, passed through twisting roads that kept me on my toes, gripping the steering wheel. I saw them in my head now; tall trees, like straight-backed warriors guarded either side of the asphalt and I sat up straight behind the wheel, trying to peer through black that was impenetrable, a visible void that sucked in the glow of my headlights. I felt myself relax into the couch under me as I recounted the journey; I'd always found driving alone at night relaxing, and the familiar roads in my mind were comforting. They led to my overprotective father, who had scared my prom date to death by cleaning his (never fired) shotgun when I was coming down the stairs in a dress that made me feel beautiful. Now I laughed, but then I'd wanted to melt into the floor. The roads led to my mother, my rock, who'd helped me study for my LSATS longer than was humanly possible, who'd made me school costumes during my youth and worked as hard as any man I'd ever known, working two jobs when my father had been laid off from his high-powered aerospace job.

I kept traveling in my mind, though the roads I crossed now were light; they had to be, because the sight was too beautiful to be marred by darkness. I would around a softly wavering lake that led into mountains, surrounded by trees whose braches reached into the light, their black fingers bathed gold in the light.

My peace was interrupted by a sudden and intense ball that gathered in my stomach, the hot grip of anger that clawed its way through me, igniting my blood as it traveled through my body. I gasped, surprised, rocked forward and gripped my knees while taking deep breaths. This was not my anger, was not related to anything I was feeling. I was homesick, nostalgic, but not--

"Oooh," I whispered, electricity connecting synapses in my brain, forming a realization that scared the hell out of me.

Eric. I was feeling him, his anger; the deep sadness that had attacked me in my car was his too, and probably the apathy. I felt his emotions.

Did he feel mine? Did he know that I hated him at times, would have liked to push a stake through his heart rather than touch him for what he did to me?

Probably. Now, though, I was curious. What had happened that Eric had felt anything that deeply? I'd never suffered that badly, and I didn't want to.

An impressive ten minutes later, when I was still deep in thought, music still rushing through my ears, Eric walked in, taking up most of the doorway. Before I could speak, he had caged me in, arms on either side of me. His lips moved, but I heard nothing. He realized, and pulled the iphones out of my ears.

"You are--" he began, but I interrupted him.

"Enterprising? Capable? Intelligent? Stubborn? Yes to all."

"Not worth the trouble you cause," he snarled, forehead creasing. His lip pulled back, but it was with disgust rather than to allow room for his sharper teeth.

"Show them to me," I said, grasping him around the neck. If he was going to attempt to scare me physically, I would do my best to reciprocate. "You're an animal, let me see the evidence."

His fangs ran out, and I looked into his eyes. I had courage; it sang inside me, pushed me forward, though it might have been stupid.

"Take my keys away, I'll learn to hotwire the car. Or steal yours. It's the 21st century, Eric, and I'm an intelligent woman, not your goddamn pet." I was breathing heavily, and he looked ready to pounce. Why not poke an agitated tiger?

"So you can throw a fit, you can try to keep me chained down, or you can trust me, let me do my job, and by the way, I've already solved a major problem today, and stay out of my way."

"You know where I rest," His voice was deep, echoed through my ribs. I moved my hands down to his chest, pushed against him, though it was like an ant trying to move a tree.

"And I haven't told anyone, nor do I plan on it."

"Swear. On your parent's lives."

"I swear, Eric." I swallowed hard, but meant it. His arms caved and my body was freed, but I didn't move, was stuck where I sat by a wave of _desire_ that was so complete, so ravenous, I barely felt the weight of his mouth on mine until he pressed his tongue to my closed lips and they opened, almost beyond my control, willingly.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, guys, you're awesome! I use a tiny bit of German in this chapter, but I had to use a translator, so if any native speakers stop by and see that I've somehow typed something like 'off, you chicken,' I'd be much obliged if you reviewed/left me the correct translation. Also...Swedish speakers want to do me a massive favor and translate a couple sentences for my next chapter?

Again, thanks so much guys!

"Eric," I moaned, his lips moving in a pleasing pattern that strayed down to my neck. "Eric, no." I pushed away from him, tried to bring my knees to my chest and force space between us, but I was powerless, pinned under the weight of him. I was no match, and no matter how angry I got, no matter how much adrenaline powered my cells, I wasn't going to overpower him.

"Eric!" I screamed, hoping my voice, my volume would reach him, "Stoppen Sie bette*!" It wasn't Swedish, but I figured he would have picked up German somewhere along the line. He let go of me and I sat up, mind reeling, telling myself that I had _not_ enjoyed his touch, his lips on my skin; that he had not inspired the heat in my body that made me perspire under my jacket.

"You speak German?" His eyes followed mine, taking one in, then looking at the other. He was still far, far too close for my taste. For my own good.

"A little." I smoothed my hair back and pushed him so he stood up, stepped away from me. "I was friends with a few German kids when I live in England. One in particular always made fun of me because I couldn't pronounce 'ich' to his liking."

"So," he said, changing gears, his voice becoming all business, with a tinge of that condescending purr I'd come to abhor so well. "What major problem did you solve today?"

"Well, your liquor vender was overcharging you massively; I threatened him with not-so flattering media exposure and the American Vampire League."

Eric didn't acknowledge my words right away; he sat stock still, gazing upon the empty shelves across the room before running a hand over his jaw vacantly. The tiny hairs on my arms, my body stood up to gauge the meaning of his silence; they tested the temperature of the room, pointed toward Eric like mini satellites trying to get a reading on the deadly calm of a nearby planet. When he came back to himself, showed signs of life, or at least animation, his head turned to look at me. I held myself up to his microscope, breathed evenly and tried to keep my façade of collection, of fearlessness.

"You may be worth the trouble you cause, after all." A back-handed compliment if I've ever heard one. "I knew he was overcharging, but I thought it would have taken you a little while to figure it out."

"And if I hadn't?"

"I would have dealt with it myself." His lips parted in a wolf smile, an imitation of friendliness, of joy that only hid the danger that was lurking just out of the corner of your eye.

"I would have enjoyed watching that," I said, knowing that the attitude was probably immoral. But it was true.

"You wouldn't have tried to protect the poor human vendors from my wrath?" Eric asked, inching into my space. He was physically intimidating, and he knew it. But I was not _his_. My body belonged to me. I stuck a finger out, pointed it into his chest and eased pressure into the digit. He caught my drift and stopped advancing, though he didn't back off any.

"Yeah, because his being human makes it alright to break the law." I rolled my eyes, knowing the gesture would come off as an adolescent tic, but he brought it out of me. "I don't care what anybody is—and I've never been a big fan of the human race in general. These humans were getting away with extortion because they thought they could."

I sighed, tired of vampire and human politics. "There's good and bad, and everyone is capable of both. That's it."

"Good work," is all Eric said before unfolding his long limbs to get up. He towered over me, our height difference, especially while I was seated, was laughable. He ambled back toward his office, but I called out to him.

"Does this mean I can leave?" I asked, and he stopped, though he kept his back to me. "I do know the way, after all." I couldn't help throwing in the little dig to show him that I was outside the bounds of total control.

"No, you'll stay." He was punishing me. Fine, I'd have a good time in the bar if it killed me, which was entirely possible. My ipod was sitting precariously on the edge of the couch, forgotten in the heat of Eric's anger. I lifted it to my chest, hugged it to me and plugged the earphones back in. I needed something calming, something to smooth my frayed nerves.

Bon Iver flowed out, up through the cord connected to my ipod and into my ears. I closed my eyes, focused on each muscle group, actively trying to unclench my body, which felt like a live wire. My reflex responses were telling me to fight, or run. Too bad neither would help here; Eric's strength and his inability at first to stop himself had scared me more than I wanted to admit. In my head, I walked through the steps of the progressive relaxation method, a sort of self-guided meditation that allowed for the release of tension. I needed it; my fingers, my body, my soul begged for some sort of release, and I didn't know what to give it.

My quiet moment was interrupted when, one again, my headphones were snatched from my ears. The music that still played sounded soft, tinny from so far away.

"What," Pam drawled, raising a bored eyebrow, "are you doing?"

"Ah," I rubbed my eyes. "It's sort of self-hypnosis."

"You're a hypnotist?" She was interested, now. I glanced over her shoulder; Eric had come out of his office and was staring at us without any expression on his face. She turned to look at him and he smiled, an indulgent, paternal expression that softened him. I looked back and forth between them, trying to figure out their history, their link. I was too curious for my own good. Pam said something to him in Swedish, cutting me out of the conversation. They spoke of me, though, because Eric's eyes drifted toward me, then back to Pam. He said something back, appeared to think something over for a moment while I sat, their subject, suspended between them.

I remained silent, didn't betray my contempt over their high school exclusionary practices. Pam's eyes caught mine again, and I felt like a deer spotted by a hunter. She was vampire and enjoyed every moment, no doubts about it.

"Not really. I took a class, theory of hypnosis, in school, for a science credit."

"I can hypnotize people, too," she said, the words themselves innocent, white as snow, but the meaning behind them was pointed. Of course I knew about the vampire's glamour, but I'd never been subject to it.

"Elliot," Eric said, but his voice was different, layered with a sort of undulation that reached for me from across the room like a tentacle, lifted my chin so I stared directly into his eyes. He dropped my gaze to come closer; it gave me a split second to retrieve myself, to look down at my hands, which he took hold of, stroking the soft skin just below my knuckles.

"Look at me, Elliot." Internally, I was recalcitrant, unwilling to let him exert mental authority over me. That was what I clung to, the power of my own mind; I could never protect myself from him physically, but I could fight back by thinking on my feet, sidestepping him when he came for me. But my resistance wasn't enough, couldn't hold a candle to his supernatural influence. I looked up into his azure stare, furious with myself, shouting internally as I obeyed him.

"Good girl," Eric cooed, which sent me into a frenzy.

"She's shaking," Pam said, looking at me like I was a mouse in a lab, an experiment.

"Raise your right hand, Elliot," Eric continued. _No,_ I thought. _That's ridiculous, I'm not his dog. He won't treat me like a…_I felt my palm slide away from the smooth material of my trousers No, no, no, this was not happening. I would not be taken by him, couldn't be owned like that! I struggled, tried to lower my arm, but I could only halt its progress a few inches above my leg.

"Tell me, Elliot, what did you like about our second night together?" Pam smiled, that of a hyena; I felt like I was looking at them through a spyglass. They were far away, had locked me up somewhere in my own body.

"That…" _No,_ I ordered. _These words can't come out; they're not his to know_. "You…" My teeth gritted together as my body tried desperately to bite back the syllables, the sounds, reel them in so no one would know they'd ever been though, ever been meant.

"Yes?" he urged, layering the spell thick with insistence. "What?"

"Seemed…so…." They were out of me, drawn like I was a dispenser. But I couldn't let him make me finish the sentence; it was too personal, for me and him. Though the tentacles of his spell were still wrapped around me, I pushed against them and felt a painful pulse in my mind.

"Did you break her?" Pam asked of Eric; I'd gone silent, and apparently bitten my lip because I tasted the sharp copper tang of blood in my mouth, felt it dribble down my chin. I was released from his hold in that moment, and fury washed me like the hot water of a shower. This time, it was all mine. Eric still looked at me, and I knew he felt the surge of malice that threatened to spill into action. I wanted to hit him, to tear at him until he was as powerless as I felt, wanted to make him bleed for me so I could look down upon him and be satisfied with the damage I'd done, because he had struck first, and harder; it's just that my wounds were invisible to him.

Pam, who was closest to me, was drawn closer, I assume, by the blood that had dripped down my chin and begun to seep into my white silk shirt. She raised a pale, delicate finger to wipe it off, but I surged forward, met her lips and crushed against her so my blood was painted on her face. If she was surprised by my actions, her appeasing kiss didn't betray it. She allowed my touch, then reciprocated until I broke away and stood up.

"This is all we're worth, huh?" I asked, not looking at either, addressing both. "Blood and sex, and some entertainment on the side. Fuck you. Both of you." I stepped around them, but Eric reached out and took hold of my ankle. It wasn't any use to try and unlatch him, like one would a toddler who had commandeered a leg in hopes to keep you there, with them; no, if he wanted to keep me, he would. I turned back, scowling.

"I have to change," I said, motioning to the blood on my shirt.

"I'll come with you," Eric said, releasing my leg to stand up. I didn't say a word, didn't look back, just went to my car and waited for him to join me. As soon as the door shut behind his long body, I was gone, speeding down the main road that would take us back to the house. Hopefully some of my dresses wouldn't be too wrinkled.

"You're speeding," Eric piped up. So I was; the speed limit was 50, I was going well over eighty.

"Don't worry," I kept my voice blank. "You won't die if we crash. Unless the car catches alight."

"Why are you so incensed?" In a way, I was glad he wanted to get into this while I drove; this way, I wouldn't have to look at him.

"I told you that I wasn't yours; that I hated to be controlled. So you glamoured me, took my body from me too." I took a breath, remembered that the cycle was important, that I had to keep going; in, out, repeat. After checking the rearview mirror and seeing no one, I pulled the car over.

"The only way," I began, looking him in the eye so he would at least conceptualize taking me seriously, "For me to work for you is if you stop trying to make me yours. You—you can't take my mind away from me."

"Well, you did fight your hardest," He replied, not blinking, or breathing, concentrating only on me.

"Yeah, and my hardest is no match for you."

"I could change that." His voice was serious, but he couldn't mean…

"You're asking me if I—"

"Want to be a vampire, yes." He lowered his eyebrows. "You're smart, and strong. Why not?"

"Because I like this—" I took his large, almost rough hand and placed it over my chest, on my sternum. He looked devious for a moment, but I jockeyed the placement of his fingers so he was nowhere near my breasts. I went silent, and felt the beat of my heart.

"It's a ticking, Elliot," he returned, leaving his hand on me after I'd dropped mine; "It's a count-down of your life, one beat at a time."

"So you're saying you would turn me if I said yes."

"Yes." It was simple, honest, and I felt like he was telling the truth.

"Why do you want to be my—what's the term? Maker?" Eric's mouth was already open, ready to reply, but he paused for a split second as the unfamiliar word slid into the air between us.

"So you can stop resenting vampires having what you want so badly."

My mouth fell open; I'd toyed with the idea of being a vampire once or twice, but never seriously. "What are you talking about?"

"You want power, you want control—"

"I do not," I started, but the look in his eyes was enough to make me fall silent.

"Over yourself. But you're a woman, and you know that physically, people will overpower you. And sometimes life is beyond control."

"And that would change by becoming a vampire? You still have sheriffs and monarchies, and just as many laws and rules. You just happen to hold yourselves higher than humans."

"The evidence speaks for itself." He slung his arm around my neck so there wasn't any space between us, especially in limited space of the car. He tilted the my seat back and pressed his ear to my chest. "Right now, I can hear the blood moving in your veins. If I bite you now and don't let go, you die. I could break everything in your body, tear you apart in a second, and still, you fight me, the one predator you can't kill."

"You're forgetting something," I slid my fingers down through his hair, prying him off of me. "You have weaknesses, bigger than ours. The sun. Stakes. Fire. We can adapt, use weapons, stay up for days. No one's dominant here; we're just on different playing grounds."

"Remember the option." Eric said, looking forward once more, out into the darkness.

"The day you come across me bleeding out on a sidewalk, then sure, do what you have to," I mumbled to myself, sarcasm cutting into each word like a knife, carving out the bitterness and anger in my voice. Without looking back at him, I brought the car back onto the road and headed toward Eric's house.

When we arrived, we separated, silently, going into our specific rooms without another word to each other.

Three hours later, I walked into the main room, dressed and ready to go. It had only taken me an hour to shower, change and put makeup on, but after this afternoon, I had no qualms about being passive aggressive, no matter how badly it made me look. I'd been treated like trash; raise your hand, tell me your favorite part of a night of beauty and sex that had been filled with invisible ulterior motives.

Whatever we had experienced together that night was a fraud, but something about his radical personality changed didn't quite click; I tried to figure out what, but it was like a popcorn kernel stuck in my teeth: a constant bother, just out of reach. Something had been bothering Eric when we met—he'd acknowledged it, or at least my ability to read him. He'd taken me, made me work for him—but was a different man now, cold, aloof. So why was I so important? Was I a threat to him somehow?

My thoughts just frustrated me; whatever Eric was feeling was beyond me, now.

I ran my fingers through my hair, tugged lightly on the ends and walked around the foyer, looking for him, though he wasn't in sight.

"Eric!" I called, but all I got was the reverb of my own voice.

"Fine," I muttered, taking my keys from my purse. I'd go back to Fangtasia, alone. I slipped off my heels when I got into the car—standard is a nightmare to drive whilst wearing stilettos.

***

The back door of Fangtasia wasn't locked, but I reminded myself to tell Eric I'd need a key. I went in, clicking loudly in my heels, and ran into Pam, who'd changed into a very low-cut, slinky black dress.

"Playing Morticia this evening?" I asked, jokingly. She gave me a smirk that contained a little fang, and came closer.

"That was quite a performance this afternoon." Her eyes were on my mouth.

"I do what I can," I said, regaining every ounce of anger than had been diluted to a dull simmer by the time I'd left the house.

"I'd be careful," She advised, looking serious. "If you want to last, you might try compromising.

"I will when he does," I replied, and she smiled, taking a lock of my hair between her fingers, reminiscent of that first night. I'd straightened it, so it fell past my mid-back. "Such a pretty lost cause." She shook her head, and I slid past her, feeling her eyes on my back for the duration of my walk to the front.

The bar wasn't crowded. There were maybe twenty people there, college-aged kids who laughed too long, spoke too loudly; they thought they were brave for coming here, for daring to come close to the big, bad vampires. Their tacky show didn't improve my mood; I was still genuinely angry over the events of the afternoon, and Pam had just stoked the embers. The waves of anger rolled off me as I sat at the bar and ordered a drink; I smiled at the bartender with a clenched jaw before handing him a twenty and pounding down two shots of tequila. More people came in, the majority undead this time. Vampires could smell anger, I guess, because I'd acquired a three foot bubble of space on either side where neither man nor vampire dared to venture, though the latter were looking at me curiously. I was on my second gin and tonic when an icy hand touched my back; I turned to ask what the _hell_ the owner of said limb thought they were doing, and turned straight into Pam.

"Wanna calm down?" She asked, catching me as I overturned in surprise. And maybe due to the effects of a little too much alcohol. "You're scaring the guests."

"Am I?" She just looked at me with a deadpan expression; a giggle escaped my lips before I could stop it.

"Eric wants to see you," She said, putting her hand on my back and pointing to the VIP section. He was looking down at me, expectant.

Great.

*(Stoppen Sie bette=please stop)


	11. Chapter 11

"Any idea what he—" I turned back to Pam to get a heads up on what, exactly, Eric wanted with me, but she was gone, and the space in which she'd been had filled in with strangers who chatted idly with one another, perfunctorily putting in enough face time to create attraction that would hopefully lead them to intimacy. The dating game. Though, in this case, this sport was for sex, not love. I'd always questioned the logic of trying to meet someone in a bar; where was the common interest? You, too, like have a drink and make arbitrary conversation with the friends you've brought while exchanging come-hither stares with strangers until one of you gathers the courage to introduce yourself and make painful get-to-know-you conversation?

_Like you're one to talk,_ I chastised myself as I snaked through the ever-thickening crowd. _Look where your last sexual escapade landed you_. I had reached Eric; he sat in front of me, an uninterested lion watching other predators encircling their prey. His hair shone under the black light of the stage, reflecting pale white. The image of corn husking passed in front of my eyes; the silk strands, so light they seemed weightless, that surrounded the ear after the outer leaves had been pulled away.

Eric inspected me from head to foot without saying a word. _There. You see his cold eyes? The way he looks at you is like a shark before a feeding frenzy. _I'd dressed nicely, but not so well that I should have been evoking the hunger that I felt at the pit of my stomach. _His_ hunger. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced, a twisting mix of lust and thirst and famine, a craving for the flesh of another as well as their blood.

"Sit," he motioned to the chair next to him.

"What do you want, Eric?" I kept my voice low, so our conversation would be private.

"I can feel your anger. You're going to give yourself an ulcer." I dropped my head a bit, looked up at Eric and raised my eyebrows. An ulcer. He was concerned about my health? Sure.

"If that's all…" I said, raising my voice slightly higher. I stood, but he did too, catching my wrist before I could streak down the stairs.

"I didn't dismiss you, Elliot." His voice was steel, dripping with unsaid threat. But I was done, done pretending I knew—or cared—what he wanted from me, what he could possibly have in store for me.

"Look," I threw my arms around his neck, stood up a little higher so I was millimeters away from his lips; he would hear me, and everyone else would think we were having a lovers-may-care PDA moment. "I don't know where the Eric from Dallas went, but you? You're just a jaded, soulless monster who is testing me, and I don't know why." I pressed my mouth to his to give the pose authenticity, then fluffed out my hair a bit to block us so I could go back to speaking. "But I do know that the day you left, there was blood all over my chest, and it wasn't mine. So either you fed me more blood while I was unconscious, or those pretty blue eyes of yours were leaking."

Jackpot.

His grip, which had been slack, loose around my waist, tightened so I gasped for air that surrounded me but refused to make its way into my lungs. I tried not to panic, but as seconds slid away and his hold only tightened, I felt myself start to slip away. Right before I sank down into the ease of oblivion, he let go and I slumped into him, keeping my hands tight behind his neck to remain standing. Black spots rushed in front of my eyes and I swayed for a few seconds before straightening and taking a step back from him.

"Go into the office," he ordered. "I'll be there in a moment." I pitched myself forward, away from him, through bodies that just didn't want to move. I put my hand on the back of a man in a blue polo shirt and asked if I could get through, but he didn't respond. After a few more taps, I squared my shoulders and slid past him, between another woman who was facing the opposite way. As our bodies touched, he turned and leered at me, enjoying the feel of my unwilling body as I passed him by.

"Asshole," I said, looking straight into his eyes. At that moment, after what had just happened with Eric, I could have killed him, or anyone that crossed me, but I just kept going, practically vibrating my way to the office, where I stood next to the door, leaning against the wall, my hands gripping either arm. I took a deep breath, let it out and repeated until I felt like my blood was flowing through my veins rather than being launched.

Eric entered a moment later, undoing the calm my body had sunk into. Without thinking, I launched myself at him, laying blows on his chest and stomach. For all the impact I had, I might have been a mosquito. But my anger burned inside me; I wound my arm up and slapped him as hard as I could.

"Don't you ever hurt me like that again," I yelled, putting space between our bodies.

"For that, I do apologize."

"Oh, thanks. I feel so much better." I paced the room, feeling like a caged animal. I wanted to hurt him so badly my hands shook for want of a stake; but I was unarmed, so I would try to hurt him with words.

"What's it like to be killed, Eric?" I began, going out on a limb with a hunch I had. "What was it like 1,000 years ago when your maker found you, turned you into what you are today?"

"Tread carefully," Eric growled, staring at me.

"Did you enjoy it when she—he bled you, took your humanity away, one mouthful at a time?"

"You don't know what you speak of." His accent came through stronger. I was a little high on this confrontation; I was starting a fire, building it tall, and I could have cared less about the consequences.

"How did it feel when you drank your maker's blood? When you woke up dead a few days later?" I balled my hands together, trying to get some of the emotion in me out. I couldn't contain myself anymore, and there was a creeping sadness inside me that hovered like fog over water, desperately trying to pull me down. I fought it, fed my anger and kept going.

"Do you want to find out?" His lips pulled back, a distinct threat this time. I was pretty sure if he did decide to drain me, he wouldn't be putting any blood back. His knees were slightly bent and he was hunched; his entire being screamed of imminent attack.

"Do you hate your maker? Were they as bad as you, taking you against your will, tying you to them because no one would stay willingly?" He didn't reply, just stared at me with eyes so wild and bright I expected them to catch on fire.

"Or is that just you, forcing humans to stay with you so you can enjoy your pathetic power trips?" With this, Eric advanced toward me. I was vaulted back into the wall behind me, pressed against it and Eric's body. I closed my eyes, expected his savage teeth in my neck, but the pain never came. Instead, his fingers encircled my wrist and I was pulled outside.

"What are you doing?" I yelled, trying to jerk away, which only left me with black-and-blue marks on my arm that bloomed instantly. "Let me go!"

"We're not talking about this here," he said, speaking to the air in front of him. He launched into the air, and I followed, though I was jostled roughly by the takeoff. I felt something snap in my wrist and then I yelled loudly, savagely into the night as we climbed higher, his grip putting immense pressure on screaming wrist.

"EricEricEric, stop, my wrist, you broke it, oh, fuck, please, please just stop!" He didn't say anything, but shifted his hold downward, then pulled me toward him so my upper body was tucked under his arm. We flew silently, the air cool, pressing in violently around me as we ripped though it. This was not the calm flight he'd taken me on before; this was urgent, wild, and I was already hurt. A few minutes past and I'd lost a lot of body heat in only my spaghetti-strapped dress. My teeth chattered with a will of their own when we finally landed on a massive roof, where he let go of me and I fell immediately onto my knees; I rolled away from him, unable to put any weight on my right wrist to crawl.

I held my arm up to look at the damage, then wished I hadn't. The entire area was swollen, and my hand jutted out at an unnatural angle. The image sent a current of nausea through me so intense I couldn't help but turn over and vomit; what came up was mostly alcohol—the only thing I'd put into my body all day. After spitting out the last of the bitter liquid that hung acrid in my mouth, I turned over onto my back and closed my eyes, concentrating on taking deep, even breaths, though my ribs stung with the movement. My body felt numb, cold, with a pins-and-needles feeling that found its way up and down my trunk and legs; so I didn't find it strange, at first, when my mouth seemed caked with something that tasted tinny and peculiar. I swallowed, but the same feeling came back almost immediately. When I opened my eyes, Eric was kneeling above me, with his arm positioned over my mouth. I coughed, spat and a geyser of his own blood colored Eric's face, almost glowing in the dark.

"No," I said, struggling, but I was a child to him, and he unfolded my body, made me lay flat and ingest his blood. My wrist snapped audibly, sending a shockwave up my spine so I bucked my hips up, colliding with his arm, sending blood all over me.

"Enough, enough!" I shouted, but he was insistent, bringing his wrist back down for me. I gave in, drank deeply until he pulled away and I collapsed into the cement under me. Physically, my body was humming, strong, ready to take on anything. But my mind was a chasm of shattered mirrors; I was tired to the core and just wanted a hot shower and a fourteen hour nap.

I sat up, clutched at my hair, smearing blood through it, and laughed out loud at the awfulness of the situation.

"You broke my wrist, Eric."

"I apologize. I gave my blood for the injury."

"Not accepted." He was silent; I stared at him, hard. "Either you tell me what's really going on, why I'm here, or I leave. I don't care who you tell. There will be some firm that wants to hire me, if not just for a pr stunt."

"Why don't you tell me?" He said, turning so I stared at his black-clad back. "You seem to have figured it out."

"I—" I hesitated. Something in his voice was just off, and, stronger than ever, I felt the sheets of dull pain that emanated from him.

"Your maker is dead," I offered, knowing I was right when gray-tinged sadness encircled my heart, wringing out any joy I'd kept there.

"Godric died the evening before we slept together."

"I'm sorry," I offered, and it was true enough. Death hurts, none worse than the death of a parent, the one who'd given you life. Or, in Godric's case, taken it away.

"The experience shook me, more than I thought possible."

"So why am I here?" He was silent, and I was staring at him so hard he'd lost his shape, become a black vapor that stretched out into the air of the night. I shook my head, brought him back into focus and pushed off the concrete with my hands, scraping them slightly as I got to my feet. I winced at the pain, held my arms up to the moonlight to see the damage I'd caused…and watched as the few small cuts I'd made healed themselves, connecting skin and tissue until no hint of injury remained.

"Oh," I breathed, giddy and scared at the same time. How much of his blood had I ingested?

"It's just an aftereffect," Eric said, quietly. "It won't last." His voice brought me back to our conversation, and I walked over the ledge he stood by, gulping audibly when I looked down at the ground that was so many stories below us. Though my heart was in my throat, I reached out with a steady hand and put two fingers on the side of his face that I couldn't see; slowly, I pulled my arm in, turning his head so I could look at him, speak to him honestly.

"Eric. What am I doing here?" His gaze was liquid when he took me in, wrapped his arms around my chilled skin. I barely felt the cold, but he slipped off his jacket and wound it around my shoulders nonetheless. It was a scene that had already been played, an almost tender moment that made me want to give myself to him all over again, to let myself get lost in his unseen depths. But I couldn't, not when he'd hurt me over and over again. I needed an explanation, something worth staying for; he wanted me, I knew that, but I needed it to be for the right reasons.

His body stayed draped over mine when I felt his voice vibrate through his chest, over the cheek that was pressed there.

"You irritate me."

It wasn't quite what I was expecting. "We're even there," I muttered, knowing he would hear me.

"I've already had you, body and blood, but I want more." I shrugged out of his embrace. Was this his idea of trying to win me over? I started to speak, but he held his hands out, asked me to let him finish.

"I shouldn't want you. I'm too old for a human to keep me enthralled as you have."

"That's all well and good, Eric," I fumed. He was telling me, point blank, that I shouldn't be important enough for his attentions; I was an insult to his power, his stature.

"But remind me of something—did I ever ask you for your blood, or did you pour it down my throat without really giving me a choice in the matter?"

"I—" He frowned, and I took the chance to interrupt.

"_You_ created a connection between us. You tracked me down, found out personal things and made me come here. So at least own up to the fact that you just _had_ to have this measly little human." His hands clapped onto my shoulders and his body tensed; if he were human, I'm sure he would have been turning red. As it was, his mouth was tensed and his body was coiled tightly, ready to be released at any second.

"You," he began, slowly, rolling the word over his tongue like he was trying to chew it thoroughly before he let it get to me, "knew me, somehow." The words were brittle; he didn't want to say them, that much was clear. It seemed to be taking a massive amount of effort to speak to me this way. "You gave me what I wanted before I had to ask. You responded to me without fear or adoration. You saw me."

I was shocked as the words hit my ears; his hands were heavy on me, like I was the one holding him up.

"You can't stand being vulnerable," The wheels in my mind turned faster, putting pieces of memory together until the puzzle was revealed; expressions, emotions, his words to me, his actions—they painted a complete picture.

"You needed an outlet." He didn't disagree, but remained silent. "You were hurt when I met you, and I knew that. So you gave me your blood, turned me into a channel for the emotion you couldn't manage."

"Vampires aren't good with emotion," he explained. I stared at him, let him continue. "You calmed me, even when you weren't physically near." My panic attack in the car—it had been him, his exquisite pain that had left me breathless, gasping over the steering wheel. He'd felt the moments of peace I'd used to get rid of the agitation that had exploded from him into me that say.

"So what, you wanted me near to contain the threat? A human saw that you have feelings—so what?"

"I want you. I shouldn't. But I do." And there it was: the truth. Eight words were responsible for my reluctant relocation. Eric, it seemed, always got what he wanted. I figured his needs were pretty straight-forward; blood, sex, money. There was no complex system behind those needs to be unraveled, no need to think of them at all because they were a part of his nature.

"You wanted me here so you could figure out what about me intrigues you so. Then you'd be free of me."

"Yes." He brushed a hand back through his hair. "But it's become so convoluted, so messy. You've twined yourself around me without intending to."

"Sorry to inconvenience you, my Lord," I said, dropping into a curtsy.

"Stop it," he ordered, lifting me up gently, somehow, by my chin. I clenched my jaw and kept going.

"Sorry, Master. What would you have me do?"

"Elliot," he growled, the pitch of his voice getting higher as he bit off the words. "I'm telling you I want you."

"You want my body," I snapped back. "You want to use me until you're satisfied."

"I've already had your body. I want _you._" And then, he broke the boundaries between us, reached out to me, leaned down and kissed me with so much need that my response was immediate and powerful. I should have still been angry, pissed off that he'd made me come to Louisiana only to find a way to bring to light the things about me that he was intrigued by; that his intentions were murky because he'd just happened to realize he was capable of wanting an ordinary human. That he was capable of wanting _me._ But giving in was easy, like sliding into a warm bath, and I didn't have enough fight in me to stop, to break away from his mouth and hands that were doing their best to awaken my body.

I pressed into him, breathing in his scent, his taste. Joy and lust danced back and forth between us and I just wanted him _closer_. My nails dug into his shirt and I let his jacket fall off before breaking the kiss. He made a deep, guttural noise in his throat as I backed away from him, closing in on the ledge. I stepped up, backwards, and held my arms out to the wind. Eric traced my every movement, his eyes dark with need. He stepped forward, arms outstretched.

"Catch me," I whispered, then allowed myself to fall back over the edge so the next thing I knew was empty air and the careening of my stomach as the acid inside was sent spinning in the wrong direction. I gasped and screamed, though it came out a garbled laugh. I fell in slow motion, felt each molecule of air as it passed me by, stroking every part of my body. The next moment, though, my fall was cut short by arms that caught me around my hips. I felt his surprise, but also the faint humor he'd found in my stunt.

"Brave," he said into my ear as we touched down on the ground in front of his house. I felt the movement of his lips near my skin and didn't answer, choosing instead to pull him into an almost sprint into the house. He lifted me, tossed me over his shoulder and we were in his room before I could blink. It wasn't what I expected. His comforter was dark blue with a soft sheen to it; the bed itself was large, could comfortably fit four people (and probably had.) I didn't pay attention to anything else after that, though, because he set me down on the soft material of the duvet and was on top of me a second later, kissing and nipping his way down to my neck.

I laughed as he turned me over onto my back so he could unzip and pull off my dress; I heard him stripping and turned to watch as he quickly revealed his perfect body. It was even better than my memory.

"Come here," I ordered, my voice hoarse, the blood having left the area to a place a little further south. He obeyed, embraced me, then found his way down so he was between my legs. His fingers began to massage and explore, but I scraped my nails through his hair and pulled, lightly, so he would look up at me.

"No," I panted. "I want you, just you." He grinned up at me and obliged, crawling over me like a cat until we were situated, my legs wrapping around his hips so he could push into me further. Those familiar sharp-tipped teeth were in full view as he smiled and grunted; I took his neck, pulled him down and caught them, worked around them and moaned into him as his thrusts punctuated our rhythm. When I reached the edge and looked up at him, I saw what I realized I'd been missing about him all along. He wasn't a villain, or a horrible person. He was capable of terrible things, but so was everyone. He found it impossible to show his vulnerability, so he'd given me the key to _feel_ it. Warmth filled me, and I was gone from myself, filled with pleasure so intense, so shared that he followed me over the edge, shuddered inside me and came to rest next to my twitching body.

We didn't speak much after that; words wouldn't do any justice.

***

The next morning, when I woke up naked in Eric's bed, I found myself grinning at his sleeping form. I traced a finger over his back, down to the top of his butt and placed a kiss on his shoulder blade before getting out of the bed and pulling on the shirt he'd been wearing last night.

I was on my way back to my room when the doorbell rang. I was close enough to the foyer, so I decided to save the maid trouble and answer it myself. When I did, standing behind the door so whomever stood on the other side wouldn't see more of me than necessary, I found the beer delivery man staring back at me.

"Hi," I said, smiling uncertainly. "Can I help you?""

"You're Eric's new manager?"

"Yeah…" I peered back into the house, wondering what this was about. I didn't get too far, though, because that was the moment he stepped into the house, covering my mouth and nose with a rag that held a sickly sweet chemical smell.

Chloroform, I realized, dully, as the world went black around me.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: SamtheLiger: Duly noted! I translated it right, but typed it wrong, haha. Thanks everyone for the reviews!

The first thing I did upon waking was curl onto my side and vomit. I'd never had a stomach for any type of anesthetic, and what had been used on me clung to my mind and body, making me dizzy, disoriented.

"Great," a voice said from above me. "I'm so not cleaning that up."

I opened my eyes and don't see anything at first, as my vision was obscured by the blue-black darkness of whatever room I was in. I rolled onto my back and shuffled away from my sick, breathing in short gasps. My eyes began to adjust and I could see that I was in a large, dingy room. My hands and feet were tied and everything ached, each muscle screaming and stiff.

"Oh," that same voice said. "It seems our guest of honor is waking up." His face appeared above me, and I recognized it. It was the delivery man, from the company I'd threatened. I felt surprise twist the muscles of my face into disbelief. The man saw this and grinned before running a hand over his military-style crew cut. Why would he have taken me?

"Remember me, do you?" His grin faded when I didn't reply and instead held his gaze steadily, without blinking. "Strong, silent type, are we?" he said, his lip curling into a sneer. "Don't worry, it won't last."

My teeth were clenched; I had to hold myself back from responding, so I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. I felt him come closer; felt him lean into my neck. My heart all but stopped, but I managed to keep from crying out.

"It's sad, really, how fragile we humans are," he whispered, his words coming out in cool gusts that ghosted across my skin, raising goose bumps as they went. "So unable to protect ourselves when taken by surprise."

"We? I don't see you tied up on the floor."

"Yeah," he said, licking the skin over my carotid artery, a pale imitation of a vampire. "That's because they needed me, someone who could spy, steal you away in the daytime." He grasped my chin, turned me so I was staring into his plain features, dead eyes. "But it's not daytime anymore."

What happened next made no sense, and I'm not even sure how it happened, but I heaved my body under him, lifted my legs and kicked him squarely in the chest so he fell back onto the floor. He was winded; I heard him gasping, but he ignored the pain to slap me so hard my ears rang. I laughed in response, the only rebellion I could muster.

"She's a rebellious one, isn't she?" another voice said. I opened my eyes again and saw a man in a beautifully cut black business suit. He stared down at me, contemplating, while I memorized the details of him; short, blonde hair pinned back, lithe body, brown eyes, almost black. In the time it took me to paint an accurate mental picture, I realized he wasn't breathing. He was a vampire.

"What is this?" I asked. "A job interview?" I looked his business attire up and down. "I regretfully decline any offer."

"Careful," he said. "Wouldn't want to have to drain you before we get what we want." Was I that handy to vampires that one group needed to steal me from the other? "Besides, as long as you're alive, you can be used as bait, too."

The man, enjoying the horrified reaction that must have flickered across my face shifted me, leaned in closer and sniffed at my skin, my hair. "His smell is all over you."

"I could change that," he continued, drawing icy fingers over my neck. I couldn't keep my response in, muttered a few choice expletives under my breath.

"What do you say?" he breathed, and I had to forcibly hold my body still to keep from trying to writhe out of his grip.

"Thanks for the offer," I said. "But I'd rather die." He released me and I fell back awkwardly on my tied arms.

"Soon, soon." He turned his back to me, addressed the other guy. "Why don't you go keep yourself occupied for awhile? I'll make sure to take good care of our guest."

"Have fun," he said, looking back at me over his shoulder as he left the room.

"So. What are you?" The blond walked around me, tracing my body like the chalk outlines that marked the dead at a crime scene. Corpse graffiti.

"Human."

"I'm not so sure about that," he said, hopping over me like I was a river.

"Well, let's see." I tilted my head to the side. "Beating heart, check. Respiratory system, check. Slow healing, check." All signs point to human—shouldn't you have figured that out, vampire?"

"While that's all well and good, I find it hard to believe Eric would bring an unwilling human to Louisiana and keep her in his private residence unless there was something extremely _special,_" the word was drawn out, accented and his eyes went up and down my body, trying to find a physical manifestation of why I was supposedly so important to Eric. "About said human."

"Why the interest in Eric?" I shot back, trying to get him angry enough that he would accidentally spill whatever he was planning. The mention of Eric's name brought a look of unaltered disgust across the man's face, so I dug harder.

"What, a little low-ranking vamp is mad at the big, bad sheriff?" The quip landed me with a shoe that nestled itself into my rib cage; I gasped and saw red at the pain, curled in on myself, winded from the blow. But he'd attacked, and that meant I was striking close to home.

"What, did Eric hurt your pride 100 years ago, and you're planning your counterstrike?"

The vampire pulled me up again, made me watch as his teeth shifted, became deadly weapons. On Eric, the change was intriguing, something to inspire awe; on this man, the only thing I felt was absolute terror.

"This is going to be fun." The words weren't spoken, but snarled. He pushed the hair from my neck roughly, scraping his nails across my skin as he went. I heard him breathe in with anticipation, and then I felt a pain that threatened to tear my body to pieces. This wasn't Eric's gentle pull, a sensation that made my body sigh with pleasure; this felt like razors were opening my veins individually; I felt the strain in each capillary, vein and artery with every mouthful he swallowed.

Relief came suddenly, without warning when he pulled his teeth out of me, my blood painting his lips, the image of a garish geisha, and looked at me in wonder.

"He gave you his blood?" He spoke softly, surprised—and worried.

"You," I said, straining my hardest, "Are so fucked."

The bite after that was much more savage, a blow aimed to maim, not kill. I don't think I've ever been more grateful to lose consciousness, though it didn't last long enough, that bliss of darkness. What I hoped was water splashed across my face in a cold shock; it flew up my nose and down my throat, leaving me gurgling and choking for air. I spat the saliva-laced water back up and it slid sticky warm down my throat. My skin, from what I could see, looked normal but felt like it had been rubbed down with sandpaper, then covered in salt.

"Fuck," I whispered, hoping my torturer wouldn't hear.

"Ooh, starting to feel it, are we?" he asked, taking the opportunity to throw more water on me, this time soaking my clothes all the way down to my shoes carefully, so he wouldn't get any water on himself.

"You're from the north, right?"

"An astute observation." I said, or groaned. Probably closer to a groan. He raised his hand as a threat, so I shut my mouth and kept it that way.

"It's cold there, huh?" He walked away from me, over to the facing wall. I craned my neck to see what he was up to and saw that he was fiddling with a thermostat.

"In a little while," he said, making his way to a door I hadn't noticed before, "You'll feel right at home." The door slammed behind him, leaving me soaking wet in a rapidly-cooling room.

It wasn't long before I could see my breath; shortly thereafter I lost feeling in my extremities, though the numbness was better than the intense pins-and-needles that had spread up and down my body. I felt my wet hair stiffening until it took on the texture of a broom, crackling slightly as it iced-over into the floor. Vibrations made their way up my neck, so intense I tried to sit up and see what was moving me; I didn't get too far before I was stopped, like a dog on a taut rope, by my hair. Every root screamed, but I held it in, laid back down. I didn't want anyone hearing my pain.

When my body continued to jump erratically, a physical stutter, it dawned on me that I was shivering, expending precious energy and losing heat in my trunk, where the majority of my blood had rushed to protect my internal organs from hypothermia. I knew I had to stay awake, had to keep fighting, but it was like someone had injected me with morphine and the opiate was spinning inside me, a blanket of sleep that draped itself lovingly, and I conceded to its embrace.

***

A flash of light blinded me, even through the hand I put in front of my eyes as a shield. I winced and turned away as a lightning-quick headache turned my head into a vice. When I could see straight, I realized I was outdoors, in the middle of a forest, the likes of which I didn't think could be found within the confines of Louisiana. It was too dense, too wild, and the air was different, thinner, dryer. No swamp moss crept up rocks or trees; no alligators stalked the depths of water that wasn't there.

I looked down at myself with the feeling I was _missing_ something; I spread my hands in front of my eyes, turned around and for a split second, it looked like the tips of my fingers were blue, but the hue disappeared as I looked closer. The further I chased the idea that something was just off, the less I could pinpoint exactly what that something was. I put my hands down, shook my head and stopped, frozen in place at the sight in front of me. Two men hobbled toward me, carrying a third's weight on their shoulders. All were dressed strangely, with furs and crude leather—and chainmail. Blood and dirt stained their faces, caked their similar pale hair.

I backed up, fell and scrambled, propelling myself with my legs to get as far away from them as possible, but they didn't notice me, looked right through me before collapsing as a unit, as one man pushing past the point his strength could carry him. I stayed where I was, listened to words that I didn't understand, but crept closer as a sneaking suspicion about the identity of the man in the middle grew within me. When I stood in front of him, he waved the others away, telling them to cut their losses, I guess. They refused, rallied around him and I inched closer, putting my hand on the chest of the dying man.

Eric.

Underneath my fingers, a flailing heart beat a strange tattoo, overworking itself to make up for the sluggish opening and closings of the valves. He was oblivious to my touch, to the hands that were now gripping the sides of his head, trying to take in the idea of Eric as human, as anything but what he was now.

He was a warrior; all three were, judging by their dress and the weapons pinned to their sides. The other two picked Eric up and I saw his wound, the opening on his lower torso, the unlucky strike that was taking him down, drowning his body in its own blood. I followed them easily as they cleared a path into an opening, where they laid Eric down and began to build what looked like a funeral pyre. Though still only human, he was a work of art, build for grace, speed and precision, deadly to any enemy, beautiful to any friend. I put my palm on the hole that was killing him, soaked my hand in his blood and wanted to weep for his death, though I already knew the end to this story.

It was dusk when Eric's comrades lifted him onto the bed of sticks and kindling, arming him with his shield and sword, allowing him to carry it into the afterlife for warriors. The man with an ax for a weapon approached Eric, spoke softly, and though Eric did reply, it seemed to take all his energy to send out waves that had barely enough strength to reach his friend's ears. He was slipping away from life, though his eyes showed no fear. I was staring at him, grasping at a hand that did not feel when a branch snapped somewhere in the woods; the other two men bristled, shouted to an invisible assailant, and before they could finish speaking, both their throats were ripped open, allowing blood to funnel out in a red fountain that made my stomach turn. I couldn't move, wanted to throw up when a boy, no older than eighteen leapt onto Eric with the swiftness that could only be the trait of a vampire. His body was covered in tattoos, intricate, ancient; his hair was matted to the point of dreads, but somehow he was still compelling, dangerously so. The boy smiled, revealing elongated teeth, and yet Eric showed no fear. They spoke briefly, then the boy reared back, sank his fangs into soft flesh of Eric's neck and drank heartily. Eric moaned a full-throated rattle that sounded like death; the boy stopped, ripped his own wrist open and allowed the boiling, potent liquid to touch Eric's lips, trickle down his throat. Eric attached himself to the limb like a newborn to a bottle. I can't say I didn't get closer, didn't watch the progression with a morbid fascination that bordered on voyeurism.

Eric drank slowly, as if swallowing were a concerted effort now, and shuddered before stopping entirely, pulling away; the pixie boy lifted Eric's head, kissed his forehead, jumped off the pyre and began digging in earnest. I stroked his blonde hair, ran my hand over his slack skin, absorbing the residual heat that would never grace his skin again.

***

Voices murmured softly around me, stirring me from the strange dream that had touched some part of me, left an aftertaste, a film of confusion.

"Use your fucking head, Joseph. If we kill her, we won't know what she can do, and Eric will have no reason to come after her." It was a woman's voice,

"How would he know if she were dead?"

"You said she's had his blood. They're bonded. Don't you think Eric would find it slightly suspicious if his human just fell off his radar?"

"What about the spell?"

The woman sighed, the picture of exasperation, and spoke like she was talking to a five-year-old. "If we kill her, that breaks the spell entirely and he'll know; right now, he can feel her, but can't sense where she is. He knows she's alive, but can't get to her."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh.' You know, I deserve a much bigger cut than what I'm getting…"

"You're getting 15%, and that's where you'll stay."

I inclined my head a little, curious as to why I wasn't cold anymore, but lost my focus when the world swirled around me in an attempt to recreate an acid trip in front of my eyes. I moved my hands under what felt like soft blankets; there was a cot underneath me, and I realized I was incredibly warm, though I realized I wore a t-shirt, not Eric's, and nothing else underneath.

"She's awake," the woman said, her shoes tapping delicately against the floor as she came over and placed the back side of her hand against my forehead. I flinched away, which only served to send a fever ache through my body.

"I'm sorry for the way you've been treated," she said, touching the back of her neck before fingering a lock of her chestnut hair. She was nervous; her eyes never really stopped on me, instead sliding back and forth like she was reading the lines to a script. "The boys got a little carried away."

Her dark eyes were warm, but it was practiced, enhanced by eyeliner to make them seem more open, more friendly. With strength I didn't have, I pointed at her.

"Good cop." I wasn't sure where the man, the vampire was, but I nodded in his general direction. "Bad cop."

"We're not—"

"You're not getting anything," I rasped, swallowing thickly. Her smile never faltered, but it fell away from her eyes, which she'd been crinkling to show me she was genuine.

"You'd better hope you're wrong," She whispered, a coo used to tuck a baby in. "Because if you're nothing special, what use are you to us when we get him?" She stood, dusting off invisible fibers from her skirt.

"When I'm sheriff," Johan was quiet, but Eric's blood had enhanced my senses; I heard him, clear as day. "You can sit next to me on that ridiculous throne of his."

"Looking forward to it," she replied, her words acidic enough to chip his teeth. They left together, and I was plunged into the dark, unsure of what day it was, what time it was, though I knew time was a precious commodity for me, and it was running out.


	13. Chapter 13

The only sound that reached me after they left was that of my own shallow breathing, a rapid-fire manifestation of my panic. It had clawed its way to the surface, waited until my control faltered before launching its attack. My wrists and ankles burned from the rope's harsh bite; became stiff from the incapacitation. I fought the bounds, raged against them, but they just dug into my skin further, and I wilted, defeated, back into the makeshift bed.

Shapes came out to play, casting the darkness off enough so that I glimpsed their outline. Across the room was what looked like a rudimentary toilet, next to decrepit shelves painted white; they were so old that the paint had begun flaking in places, leaving dandruff-like residue on the floor below. When I looked at the toilet, I realized I had bodily functions to take care of, and soon. The question was how I'd manage to get there. The covers were easy enough to push back with my bound hands; I stood up shaky and hopped a few times before my knees buckled under me. The ground was unforgiving and I hit hard, collapsed onto my side onto the hard, cold floor. I was gasping, trying to contain myself but it was all too much; I was pathetic, doused so intensely with frustration and self-pity that I wanted to scream and scream until no sound came up, until my throat was reduced to bloody shreds that would drown me, put me out of my own misery.

I'm not sure how long I stayed there, lost for having immersed myself in fear and despair, but slowly, almost imperceptibly so, courage traveled through me, gave me the will to sit up, to use my hands and legs to spider-crawl to the other side of the room. Though, I'm not sure if _courage _is the right word, or feeling. I stopped being afraid because I already knew the outcomes; I would escape, or I would die. The facts cleared my mind, spurred what little strength I had in my body into action. The toilet was old-looking, but it was clean, for which I was thankful. I half-stood when finished, looking for toilet paper that wasn't there, and swayed again, losing my balance. This time, though, I was determined to not hit the ground, so I threw my weight to the side and fell into the wall, hitting my head on the lowest shelf as I went. It fell from the wall, clattered loudly as it hit the floor, amplified by the empty room. I winced, expecting the door to open, for Johan to come in and torture me in some new and different way. But nothing stirred, and I've never been so thankful for silence. The offending shelf was by my feet in two pieces, having shattered at the impact; I hopped carefully around them, as rusty nails stuck out from the degraded wood.

Nails.

Wood.

The significant of my accident gripped me so tightly my breath was stopped entirely. My knees cracked when I awkwardly bent to get to the floor again, but physical pain was beyond me now. My fingers scrabbled against rough, brittle wood that tried its hardest to get stuck under my nails, into my skin. I kept inching by, feeling for the key to my freedom; I looped the rope holding my hands around a long, rusty nail and began rubbing vigorously. The raw skin of my wrists heated up as I scraped layers away, moving up and down, catching a separating the fibers of the rope. _Just keep going_, I chanted as the fire in my hands spread up my wrists. _No matter what, just keep going._ I rubbed and rubbed, for how long I'm unsure, but my breathing started to get a little heavier and I slowed down a bit. It's not until I felt a splash on my leg that I realized tears were falling from my eyes. I was glazed over, robotic and unwilling to give this up, to let go of my freedom when it was so close. Warm wetness trickled down my arms, absorbed in the rope, but this liquid was far more precious. I rocked back and forth, heaving with the motions, trying not to cry out loud as pain hit each and every nerve I had. My body twitched, yelled at me to stop inflicting this upon myself, to just give it up.

And then, the rope went slack and my arms flopped down by my sides, feeling oddly light. The skin where the rope had been was puffy, pink and oozing clear liquid that I couldn't identify. Bile rose in my throat, crept toward my mouth but I swallowed it down, closed my eyes and took a breath, trying to think of anything but my injuries. The first image I came to was Eric, his eyes, the feel of his skin and hair underneath my fingers, and the nervous jump my stomach did whenever he was near. Was it his blood that tied me to him, made me want him so badly I could taste it? I'd been attracted to him that first night, but now I felt…_no, _I decided. _I won't be making any rash emotional declarations right now. They won't be organic, and I'll never know if they're real._ I opened my eyes again, which really didn't do too much, and started to work on the ropes at my feet which were expertly knotted, doubled back into a long maze of a twine that chafed painfully when my stiff fingers started on the many ties.

"Such a responsible girl," my mom's words could have been spoken aloud, but they were faint, contained solely within my own mind. I could see her, the tears in her eyes when I told her I was moving to Dallas for law school. She'd cupped my face with her hands, looked deeply into my eyes and sobbed, just once, before pulling me into her arms. I remember the rigidity of my limbs as her embrace encircled me; my lie was manifested in my arms and legs that wanted to leave her behind, to walk away from her love and comfort because what I was going to do would hurt her if she ever found out. But she couldn't help me pay for law school, and so I did what I had to be done.

But now, what?

My life was diverging in front of me. Eric, so he said, wanted me, but for how long? I wasn't sure he would be captivated with me forever and what then? My life, everything I'd worked so hard for was back in Rhode Island; my career, my family, my future as a lawyer. My humanity. What did I have with Eric, even if his interest was more than just a fleeting glance, eyes over the shoulder of a passerby? I would age, that was definite; right now, at this very moment, my cells were decaying, being replaced with newer versions of the same model, but soon enough, that would start to slow down. My skin would lose its elasticity, my hair its color, my eyes their sharp sight. He'd offered to turn me, but did I want it? Did I want to give up my lazy days, the memories of salty ocean-kissed hair and sun drenched skin the only remnant of my former life? I could see Eric as he would turn me, smiling, showing off those teeth that he wanted to give me. He'd kiss me gently, bite soft, push my hair back and take all of me into him, then replace me entirely with his blood. I'd told him he could never have me, never own me; would I be giving myself to him, trading ownership for immortality? If he became my maker, I would be under his control, completely.

What wrenched me out of my spinning thoughts was the metallic scrape of the door's rusted, bent base against the concrete of the floor.

Fuck.

I stayed still, but reached down for the piece of wood that ended in a point and kept my hands behind my back.

"Little girl," a man, Johan, called, looking for me. "The mean lady's gone away. I think it's time you and I had some fun." He approached the bed, and seeing I wasn't there, snarled at the bare sheets.

"Where are you?" His words were sinister, low. He wanted to hunt, but that wasn't going to happen.

"Here," I called, moving my legs slightly so he could catch sight of me. "I was going the bathroom."

"Want me to help you pull your pants up?" He asked, and my stomach turned. He wasn't beyond hurting me that way; I was sure of it. His voice _felt_ like an inappropriate touch or look; his words made explicit a hunger I was sure was not sated by willing sex and blood donors. Eric may have been a vampire, but this man was a monster.

"Oh, that's right," his voice was nearer now, "You aren't wearing any."

"What's wrong, Johan? No girls willing to sleep with you? Or do you like hearing them scream for the wrong reasons, you sick fucking wretch?"

He laughed. "Humans. So judgmental."

"Rape is rape, idiot. It's wrong, no matter who does it."

"Oooh, little girl likes to be in control?" I couldn't see him, but I felt that he was in front of me; he hooked his hands into the neck of my shirt, pulled my up roughly so I had to clutch desperately at the plank held behind my back. He sniffed at my neck, then tensed, allowed his teeth to come out; my heart stuttered and I moved instinctively, forced the wood up and into his chest as hard as I could.

But not before his fangs, sharp as an exacto knife, breached my skin, then tore to the right, opening the artery that pulsed there. He gaped at me, stunned, before he melted into a pool of blood on the floor. I was distracted by the stream of life pouring from my neck, a fountain of my being that made my fingers slick, slide into the open wound when I tried to stop the flow, to put pressure on the artery. If I didn't I would bleed out here, on cold concrete, next to my would-be rapist. Before I could think about what I had to do too deeply, for fear of backing out, I dropped to my knees, took my hand off the vein and scooped up his blood, which had formed a pool on the floor, bringing it to my wound. After a few applications, I thought the blood was flowing slower, but I was still getting dizzy; the air blurred around me and I wanted to shout, to scream that I wouldn't die like this, but my mouth only formed shapes. Air couldn't seem to make it through. I knew what I had to do, but my mind was saying _nononopleaseno_ in a revolving pattern that become a chant, even as I lowered my head to the ground and put my lips on lukewarm liquid, slurping it up like soba noodles at a Japanese restaurant. The blood came thick, convoluted so I gagged and it tried to come back up, but I resolutely forced the sickness down. Swallow after swallow, I dragged the blood into me until warmth spread through my veins, lit me up so I could push myself back, away from the pool and tear the rope, breaking it with my fingers. My wrists were healed, left with nary a scratch. I couldn't think of what I'd just done, so I waded through Johan's clothes, praying silently until I closed my hand around a steel key ring.

My luck was changing.

On legs that were surprisingly steady, I walked carefully past what was left of Johan, through the door on the opposite side of the room. Considering the conditions in which I had spent the last two days, what I opened the door to find was mildly surprising; I felt carpet under my feet, and a few couches were situated around a tv. The room was large, though not as cavernous as the one I'd been in.

My breath caught when I saw the beer delivery guy, my kidnapper, asleep on the couch. His clothes were different, and there was a foam to-go container on the glass table in front of him. He'd had a comfortable time, then.

Asshole.

My steps were quiet as I crept out into the room, spying a door straight ahead. But when I saw a baseball bat leaned against the wall, I couldn't help but make sure he wouldn't follow me. I wrapped my fingers around the smooth base of the bat and stomped toward him, making as much noise as I could. When that didn't work, and he only turned over to mumble something incoherent in his sleep, I raised the bat up and brought it down on the table, shattering the glass with a satisfyingly sharp crack.

He was up a second later, looking at me drowsily; I didn't give him time to say anything, instead brought the bat down a second time, against his head. He was out before surprise could even hover over his facial features. I waited, made sure he was breathing, which he was, though I doubted he'd be up anytime soon. I kept the weapon in hand as I eased the door open onto the night air; a car sat in front of the building, waiting for me like a well-trained dog. A very nice well trained dog, I noticed, sliding my hand across the 'Mercedes S series' logo on the back bumper of the car. I was thankful for the coverage of the dark; the reflection that stared back at me as I slid into the seat was something out of a horror movie. The wild eyes, smudged make up and rings of blood, my own and Johan's, would have scared anyone, including me.

I stopped looking at myself; it was too troubling to see that I wore the signs of shock and abuse outwardly. I couldn't confront them yet; they hadn't internalized, and I feared what I would feel when they did. Besides, I still had to keep my head in the game. I had a car, and when I started, the gas tank showed it was full, but my distance was still constrained—I had no idea how far I was from Shreveport. I'd woken up on what I thought was the same day I'd been kidnapped, but I couldn't be sure. My escape route was looking bleak, as I had no money, no way of refilling the tank, and even better, I couldn't really get out of the car—unless I wanted to be arrested for indecent exposure. And, oh, yeah, every surface of my bare skin was covered in blood that had dried and started cracking from movement.

I rested my head on the steering wheel, the hard leather no great comfort, and jumped, my hands shooting out to the side, ready to attack, when a voice spoke to me from inside of the car.

"Hello." I craned my neck, lifted my body and checked the backseat—no one was hiding there, waiting for me to drop my guard—not that I'd had any in the first place.

"Please buckle your seatbelt," the voice continued, coolly. Too coolly; it was the monotone of a machine that spoke to me. Shaking with residual fright and relief, I saw that the center panel of the car, what I'd assumed was a very high-tech stereo was actually an OnStar system. I frowned at the machine, thinking. This was too easy; I'd been handed a ticket out, a deus ex Machina that pointed, it seems, with a giant blinking arrow, back to Eric. I didn't trust the car, but I had no other choice but to use it. I keyed in my destination quickly, waited as the route was mapped out, hoping I could make it on one tank. When the directions came up, I closed my eyes, thankful and relieved. I was an hour away.

The car was smooth as I pulled out of the gravel driveway onto pavement; I drove away from my prison, following the computer's odd, tinny voice, hoping in the back of my mind that the car wasn't going to blow up. Maybe I watched too many Bond movies, but I had just been kidnapped. The roads were straight and long, smooth as glass, like I was driving on a placid lake. The headlights guided me, but I'm not sure how much I actually needed them. Johan's blood buzzed inside me, illuminating the dark so I could see through it, past the haze of black that left normal people blind. I wondered if vampires had eyeshine, the bright refraction you see in an animal's eyes when you shine a light on them in the dark. The thought brought a chuckle from me as I imagined Eric's eyes reflecting an eerie silver light; he was already cat-like enough—those strong, sinewy limbs, eyes that tipped up at the corners, unmatched power coiled in his body, waiting to be released. That power was in me now, mixed with another's; the idea of Johan inside me made me tremble with disgust, so I pushed the thought away, stopped thinking of vampires and their blood. I shut my mind off entirely, that nagging voice that wondered about the consequences of having ingested so much over the past few weeks.

Shreveport was waiting, so I drove as fast as I could toward Eric.

***

By the time I pulled into Fangtasia's vacant lot, it was close to midnight. I parked next to the back door so my clothing, or lack thereof, wouldn't be so apparent. I pulled on the door, but it was locked.

_I never got that key,_ I remembered, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway; I didn't have my purse. I couldn't go to Eric's house—what if the woman had found out and was waiting there? I banged on the door, my blood-covered hands making the hard metal reverberate into the quiet night. I meant to keep going, keep throwing myself at the building until this odd anger had been purged completely, but I didn't have the chance. The door opened in front of me as I hurled myself forward; the momentum threw me off balance and my hands slammed into the broad chest of a very tall, very blonde man.

Eric.

His arms opened and I was taken, dragged in so close I could have been a part of him. I let it happen, curled my hands in his shirt, then around his back. Warm ease, relief, filled me to the point that my mind was muted, drowsy; I'd figured over the past few days that anytime an emotion overwhelmed me, it had been his. I could deal with my own feelings, but his in we were amplified, drastically. Strange. My thoughts dissolved, though, when his lips met mine; I stood up on my toes, kissed back with everything I had, swirling my around his mouth, touching every surface, tasting him deeply, like it was the first time.

My shirt lifted up with me, though, and I drew back, tugging it so it covered my butt.

"Don't," I said, my hand on his chest. "I need to put on clothes." He took a look at me, and to my surprise didn't leer upon seeing how little clothing I wore. He stepped back, taking me with him, and without saying a word, lifted my hands, my arms to his face, breathing in the scent of the blood that covered me.

"This isn't just your blood."

"No."

"This is a vampire's blood."

"Yes."

"How," he started to ask, but I couldn't explain, not right now.

"I need a shower," I said, putting my hands on his hips. "And clothes." He was silent, looked at me closely, like I was going to break if he said anything. He stayed quiet, and guided me to his office and through a door I'd never noticed, which contained a small but very clean bathroom. He closed the door behind us; I just stood, blankly, looking into the full-length mirror next to the sink. My hair was knotted and matted with blood, but it was also a deeper, pretty shade of red my own dark hair could never seem to reach, no matter how many times I hennaed it. My eyes looked clearer, brighter, a shade of blue that was just slightly more intense, and my skin was dewy, almost translucent. I didn't recognize her, this girl who stared back at me. I forgot that Eric's eyes were on me until he stepped in front of my view, blocked the stranger out and gently lifted up my shirt until it was over my head. I held my arms up and allowed him to take the fabric off, throw it in a bundle across the room. I wanted to burn it. I stood in front of him, naked, limp in my skin, staring into his tank top clad chest. He pulled the shirt off, then slid down his pants before bringing me into him again, though this time nothing separated us. I looked up into his face, his eyes and took in the symmetrical features, the sheer prominence of his physical perfection and let my hand drift up to his head, running over his cheeks, his eyes, those beautiful lips. They stopped me, held me close but didn't bite. He released my hand when he started the shower, but never looked away from me. I got in, let the warmth cover me when I felt his hands, rubbing firmly at the blood, washing it away so the water that flowed from me was a pale rust color. He shampooed my hair, ran his fingers through my strands carefully, lathering it up, then leaned me under the spray so it washed out, smelling like gardenias.

We kissed again, contact that didn't break until the shower was over; I clung to him, drawing out his strength like a siphon, until I felt a bit more human. He dried me carefully, with the touch of a lover, but still made no move to try and coerce me into sex. I threw the towel he had down, recaptured his mouth and did the only thing that made sense to me at the moment; he obeyed when I told him to lie down, and I climbed on top of him, adjusting slightly halfway down to accommodate for his size. Our bodies moved slowly this time in a reaffirmation. I was here, I was with him, and even through what I'd experienced, he still appealed to me. He sat up and the angle change inside of me sent electricity through every pore of my skin; he held me, rocked me up and down until I crushed myself against his shoulder, shouted his name upon release. He followed shortly thereafter, and I stayed wrapped around him, breathing heavy, when he whispered into my ear.

"Thought _I_ was the vampire," he said, laughing at me when I looked up, confused. He shrugged his shoulder, the one I'd rested my head on, and I saw the marks there—the unmistakably human teeth marks.

"Oh," I said, licking my lips, tasting the blood there.

"I'll get you some clothes," He said, pulling on his sweatpants. I waited until he came back with a t-shirt, shorts and a thong—not my typical outfit by any degree, but fine in a pinch. When I dressed and came out of the bathroom, he was in the office, waiting for me, with Pam.

"Impressive," she said, "For a human."

"What?" I asked, bristling toward her. "Escaping, or killing a vampire and drinking his blood to heal a fatal wound he inflicted?"

That shut her up, and had Eric out of his seat so fast the kingly chair toppled over.

"What did they do to you?" He asked, and a ball of anger curled around my stomach. I clenched my jaw and launched into the whole story, every detail that I remembered; the beer distributor kidnapper, Johan, and the witch. I stared into the air, blankly as I recounted killing the vampire and his last blow to me, that had left my carotid artery severed.

"Oh," I said to Eric, remembering the Mercedes out front. "You should probably get rid of that car; have it hauled away, though. Don't get inside of it." Eric just nodded at me, thinking.

"So," Pam drawled, an almost-smile playing at her mouth, "You killed and ate a vampire? On your own?"

I nodded, curtly. Did she think I was lying? Let her come smell me if she wanted proof.

"God," She said, looking at Eric. "Do you know how to pick them."


	14. Chapter 14

"Inadvertently complimenting yourself, Pam?" Though his face gave no hint of it, his voice was playful, a teasing tone, that of a father to his daughter. Pam's full lips pulled up as she looked at Eric, then back at me.

"Surprising," she said, standing, her movements smooth and continuous. The thought of my own movements, jerky and slow compared to hers, flickered through my head as she glided out of the room with all the presence of a ballerina.

"I'll leave you alone." She gazed at us over her shoulder and was gone; I still stood across the room from Eric, gripping my arms at the elbows. His expression had transitioned from neutral to furious, akin to the sky when ominous black clouds roll through, forewarning the people below of the wrath to come. He was angry, ashamed, though over what, I wasn't sure. He didn't speak, didn't come near, and the sounds of my breath, my heart, my life blared in my ears against the silence of his unmoving body. He had no animation, no spark.

"They tortured you. Would have killed you." His lips barely moved as he spoke the words.

"Yes," I said, so uncomfortable I began to itch and the blood vessels in my face dilated, allowed that warm fluid to rush to the surface, coloring me scarlet.

"He fed from you." A slow burn licked the fringes of his words, one that made me clench my fists, gnash my teeth to hold in the explosion my body was threatening to detonate. That I'd become a conduit to his every emotion creating a conflict within me; on the one hand, feeling him allowed me to react to him, to know how to approach him and give him what he needed without him having to ask, or come off as weak, but at the same time, it hardly left any space inside for myself.

"Yes, and I fought back with everything I had."

"Well," he stood; I craned my neck to meet his eyes. "You saved us a trip, at least."

"What?" There was an edge to my voice. I was impatient, didn't want to be talked in circles, lead around the subject until he decided he was good and ready to back me into it. His reference to a trip, something I obviously wouldn't understand was another power trip, a way to make me feel stupid when he revealed what he was actually speaking of.

"I would have ripped your captor to pieces," he said, plainly, like he was telling me the time. "Which would have resulted in a trial."

"You would have been called to the magister?" Eric blinked, surprised I knew who he was speaking of. "Vampire politics, 210."

He nodded, a slight angle of the head, and walked to me, put his long arms on my shoulders and stared into my eyes.

"Did they say why they took you?"

"They thought I was special." A lump formed in my throat, an ache that resonated through me deeply, cutting like a dull knife, ripping away at the walls I'd constructed to keep the experience from affecting me. "They thought you brought me here because I had some sort of draw, or powers." My body wanted relief, but I pushed the salty liquid back into my eyes, down my throat. "And if I wasn't, well, hey, I was bait for you."

"They wanted me?" His head was close to mine, mere millimeters away from my nose, and he stared into my eyes, searching.

"Yeah, Johan, a blonde vampire, thin, about six feet tall, was going to kill you, then campaign for your position. And the witch was going to take a percent of whatever wealth they took."

Eric was deadly now, had lapsed into silence, leaving me to quake with his rage.

"Stop it," I grabbed his arms. "Calm down." His eyes widened and his emotions only got more intense.

"Calm down? Some nobody vampire kidnaps you _from my home, from under my nose,_ and is gunning for me? I'll have that witch's head."

From his home. From under his nose. Was he angry that I'd been taken, or just that I'd been taken from _him?_

"Can we go?" I asked, tugging at the elastic waist of my shorts. They might as well have been underwear, they were so short. "I just need to get out of here."

"We can't go home," he replied, furrowing his brow. As if it was my home to begin with. "But we'll go to Pam's house, for tonight." His eyes were trained on me and I matched his stance, though not his façade. Sometimes I forgot how old he was, the extent to which he'd been removed from humanity. The idea of a life as long as his confused me, depressed me; what had kept him going? I'd gone through a period in my early twenties, my senior year in college, a time when I was so sad it hurt to do anything. Sometimes I was surprised I'd made it out alive at all. And, really, had I? I wasn't sure if I was happier, but I knew I was capable of living. I'd numbed myself, dialed down what I felt in favor of a pattern of control and acquaintances. The past few days had reduced me, broke something in me that had been a steel rod, holding me up no matter what happened. But now—I straightened my shoulders, blinked my glazed eyes and drew my mind away from its internal reverie and imitated an alert expression—whatever had kept me going was cracking.

With one eye still on me, Eric called to his child and picked up the phone, spoke very briefly, details about picking up the stolen Mercedes, and placed his hand on the small of my back as Pam strolled into and out of the office, headed toward the parking lot.

"Calm down," he said, bending toward me like he was going to embrace, but instead he just stayed in my space until I walked forward, following Pam. Calm down? After having been taken, beaten and bled, only to escape, all within the span of three days, I expected something more than 'calm down.' A current of irritation ran through me, then intensified because I knew he could read me, now, as well as he could himself.

"We'll talk when we get to Pam's," he whispered to me, suddenly close. I was stock still, having reached the door. I stood between the dark of the building and the illumination of the street lights over the parking lot, nodded once, and continued. His gaze was on me, between my shoulder blades, but I didn't flinch, and I didn't look back at him. If I had, I would have seen the soft sheen of his hair and skin in the dark, brilliant against the night, and would have been disarmed, my frustration forgotten in favor of the memory of his touch on my body.

Eric's 'look at me' corvette was parked next to what I assumed was Pam's somewhat less flashy dark blue Jaguar. Still, it made me salivate, made my fingers itch to wrap themselves around that leather steering wheel and see what that beautiful car could do. I stood at the door of the corvette and watched as she floated down into the seat.

Eric stepped in front of me, obscured my sight. He was smiling, a dazzling, inside joke grin; he had found something so similar in me that was the very heart of him. He craved excitement, something to break up the monotony of 1,000 years, and I craved the release of pushing my boundaries, stepping over the edge just to see how far the drop is.

"I never took you for an adrenaline junkie."

"I fed vampires as a day job." I quirked an eyebrow at him. "You don't know me very well, Eric." I sat into the low leather passenger seat, shaking my head at the truth of the statement. He knew the facts about my life; my records, my history as documented by paperwork that chopped my being down into categorical sections. But that was just a sketch of someone, an idea of the things I _did,_ not who I was.

"I will." The words, though they were confident, were patient. He knew I wasn't a forthcoming person, knew I had secrets, and was waiting for me to show myself, remove all the layers and lay in front of him, bare in that sense. But therein lay my doubt about him. He understood my need for privacy, but had subsequently bonded me to him, given me his blood so he would know what consumed me, what made me angry and cheerful and free. I think I'd been somewhat of a mystery to him, a human that had challenged him, wasn't enthralled with his being a vampire, or drop-dead gorgeous. So if, eventually, he knew me entirely, would he remain interested? And how much of Eric was Eric? I wondered how much of him was defined by his vampirism, if anything of the original human was left inside his ageless exterior.

The thought triggered the memory of that strange dream I had whilst I was held captive, the sequence of Eric's human death. Now I wanted to know if it was true, or if what I'd seen of Eric's past was the fantasy of a chemically-addled mind. I mulled this over as the car started and Eric took us out onto the road, behind Pam's car. The drive was silent, but when I let my eyes drift shut, I could _sense_ his being next to me, the power and energy running through him. Somehow, whether because of our blood sharing, or the power I'd absorbed from Johan, I could now sense Eric, tell where he was, like a pair of satellites, corresponding to one another in the recesses of space. I couldn't help but be scared; it seemed I was irreversibly tied to him—my life was intertwining with his more and more, with every beat of my heart.

The drive to Pam's took somewhere around forty minutes, and the ride was silent, though not uncomfortably so. I watched as he drove, made small adjustments, barely paying attention to the road in front of him. The music, a soft, sweeping melody that wasn't in English was relaxing, and surprising. I guess I really didn't know Eric, either. If he was knowable at all. I stared out of the window, at the lonely roadside scenery of the trees until eventually, after a series of rights and lefts made so quickly, so deftly I knew I'd be unable to ever find my way back, we arrived in front of an enormous Victorian-style house. It was a soft blue, almost grey, and had red shutters. I like it immediately; it reminded me of home.

"It's beautiful," I said, almost under my breath when I got out of the car, knowing Pam would hear me. She nodded, acknowledging and agreeing, and led us into the house, which could have occupied Coco Chanel herself. The furniture was old, feminine and slightly sexy, European-esque, understated in way that screamed expensive. I knew, as I took in the subtle touches—a footstool here, a rich cream drape there—that I was obviously gaping, but I'd grown up in a solidly middle-class home and appreciated the things Pam had.

"I'm in the master bedroom upstairs," Pam said, ushering us in, though the explanation was geared toward me, not Eric. "The bedroom down the hall should suffice for you two." Without a backward glance, she ascended the stairs, her heels keeping a rhythmic time as she went. Eric put his hand on my shoulder, then motioned for me to follow him, so I did, down a long hallway that ended in a bedroom that was understated, decorated in sleek gray and white tones that had a slight sheen to them. The en suite bathroom was glorious, with his and hers showers and a Jacuzzi tub. I could have pulled off my clothes right there and soaked until I was a prune, but I headed back into the main room, where Eric was waiting for me on the bed. He was on his back, staring up at the ceiling, so I lay next to him. Our hair mingled, blonde contrasting with my own bright auburn.

"You're conflicted." He reached for me, took my hand and sandwiched it between his own; my fingers were long, but they disappeared entirely in his grip.

"Yes," I nodded, biting my bottom lip before pressing them together and pulling up my eyebrows.

"This," I motioned with my other hand, "has all been so strange and terrifying. It's not like I get kidnapped every day, Eric."

"For that," he said, slowly, "I must ask your forgiveness. I should have protected you better than I did."

"I felt like before, you were more upset over the _way_ I'd been taken, not that fact that I had. Like, your pride was more your concern than my disappearance."

"It does make me look weak."

A lump formed in my throat; this was not how I expected the conversation to go.

"Don't get upset, Elliot." His hands were still on mine. "I was worried about your well-being, too."

I choked, but it came out a dry laugh. He was worried about my well-being. I'd stayed strong, desperately tried to get back to him, and he was offering me the equivalent of 'I'm sorry you feel that way;' a bullshit apology there, a bullshit condolence here.

"This is dizzying, Elliot. I'd forgotten how emotional humans are." Anger had spiked in me, and he was only fueling it.

"Then you shouldn't have given me your blood. I didn't want it, and I don't need it." I tugged my hand out of his grip. "And I sincerely apologize for my emotions; from what I've been reading off you, the only acceptable states are, what, lust and anger?"

"Elliot," he warned. But I couldn't do this, couldn't back down now.

"What, Eric? You know, I don't fucking appreciate being your emotional channel, and I hate that you know how I feel."

"Why?"

"Because it's a violation of my privacy. You get to know when I'm sad or angry or giddy, but you're DOA half the time. It's not fair. And when you do feel, it overtakes me. I'm too young to have this kind of connection with another person."

"Why must you always be in control? He sat up, looked down at me.

"Why do you always act like it's a given that you will be?" My words were getting thicker; my throat strained. "I stayed alive for you, Eric. I was almost raped, had my carotid artery just about ripped out of my throat, and all you can pull together is your worry for my 'well being?' None of this would have happened, were it not for you."

Eric moved nimbly over me, so he straddled my waist, though he didn't pin my arms.

"Why do you insist on fighting everything? What are you running from?"

I sat up, practically snarling. "Running from? Eric, you've ended my life. You took me away from everyone I love, kept me down here to get kidnapped and tortured, and in the end, how long is this little thing between us going to last? A year? Five years? Eventually, you'll lose interest and I'll have squandered my life with you."

"I've told you, Elliot. I want you. Why are you so stubborn that you can't see that?"

"Because I just know you won't stay." He ground his hips into me; I'd turned my head, refused to look at him, stuck in my mindset. He was impatient, irritated, but also distressed, reckless.

"I have had over 1,000 years to understand what I want, Elliot," he leaned on his elbow, made me look into his eyes. "I have tied you to me in the most permanent way I know possible while allowing you to remain human. You're feeding your own fear of commitment."

"We're too close," I said, flushing. "It's so messy, this bond; it makes me feel out of control, like my life is slipping away."

Eric slid off me, and I breathed easier with the relief. I was breathing heavy, on the verge of breaking down.

"You'll decide what you want," Eric said, staring at the wall. "Stay or go, leave Louisiana. Flee home. It's up to you, but I'm done proving myself to a human."

I sat up, with a weight on my chest so heavy I though I was having a heart attack.

"Eric, I—" He didn't move. I spoke to a rock; as old as time, as quiet as a placid lake. So I got up, legs stiff, and went to the door. My hand was on the doorknob when old reliable, that steel rod inside that kept me aloof, kept my back straight and my head turned in front of me snapped in two. I wasn't quite sure how I made it to the ground, but before I could leave the room I was on my knees, my hands out it front of me, reeling, my mind acting like a projection that sent images in front of my eyes. I saw myself walking away from Eric, but at the same time, a boy, that same boy from my dream looking into Eric's eyes serenely as he was begged not to do whatever he was about to go through with. Tears of blood ran down Eric's cheeks, sorrow and pain and confusion at his abandonment—the boy was leaving him! I gasped out loud, shrieked something that sounded like 'snälla,' and clutched at my head. Panic in its purest form exploded into my veins; _nonononononono_ was all my mind could think, in a loop as the movie in my head kept playing. The boy put his hand on Eric's neck, smiled down on him and ordered him off the roof; Eric stood, drawn, looking small, somehow, and marched backwards down a stairwell, his eyes on the boy, his maker, the entire time.

I remained, though, on that roof, as the boy stripped off his shirt, held his arms out in blind ecstasy and was washed out of existence in a cloud of blue flame as the sun peeked over the skyline, washing the buildings with a gold that could never stay.

When I opened my eyes, Eric was in front of me, gripping my shoulders. I swayed in his grasp as I tried to make sense of what I'd just seen. His eyes were wide, too; whatever had just happened hadn't only affected me.

"That was your…" I began, but the word couldn't make it past my lips. The look in his eyes and the pain that was beginning to swell around the edges of my eyes silenced me.

"Yes," he answered, the words soft like a goodbye. Maybe they were.

"Eric," I asked, taking his face with shaking hands, "Are you mine?"

He pressed his lips into mine, crushed my chest against his and wound his hands through my hair. "Yes," he breathed into my mouth, sending sweet air down my throat.

"Then," I ran the words over in my head, making sure they were true. "I'm yours."


	15. Chapter 15

"Then I'm yours," I said. George Orwell would have been proud of the lie, the doublethink I'd just convinced myself of. I knew I couldn't stay, shouldn't stay—no matter what I felt, no matter how important I found Eric, I was a liability to him, and he to me. Something in me, my body, my mind, _knew_ that if I stuck around, I might soon find my time on this earth up—a permanent, human death, something that I wasn't ready for at twenty-five.

I would go, flee to Rhode Island, leave him when I wanted to stay, for a future that was most certainly _there,_ for a tomorrow I was sure could actually exist. It wasn't fair to Eric, not at all, but I was sure he'd survive. And if I remained here, I wasn't so sure I would. But I couldn't think of these things now, couldn't face the truth because it would have alerted him, left its mark and allowed him to try and change my mind. And I wanted so badly to let him.

So instead of sorrow, I closed my eyes and fairly floated with joy; the idea of staying with him. I allowed myself to believe he would remain with me, slowly getting to know every part of me without losing interest. My eyes filled; it was the perfect idea, a lover, a partner who saw one's flaws and loved the person anyway. Happiness was easy enough to convey; it would have been real, if I had chosen Eric. Meanwhile, my eyes overflowed, trailing tracks down my cheeks. I couldn't bear to take my hands off him to wipe them away, but I needn't have, anyway. His lips were cool on my damp cheeks; the rough stubble scratched, but not painfully so. He traced up the skin without opening his mouth and then was gone, leaving me unsatisfied with the meager contact. I opened my eyes to see him licking the wetness away, drawing it in with a sharp, pink tongue.

He watched me watch him; in silence, I moved my hand from his cheek to his mouth, traced his cupid's bow and replaced my finger with my mouth, lightly, quick as a butterfly on a leaf before leaning out of his grasp.

"What does it feel like?" I wondered aloud, squinting at him, thoughtfully. He didn't pretend to misunderstand me, but he also didn't answer right away. I stood, held out my hand for him to copy my motion, but instead found myself chest-to-chest with him on the floor. My heart rate picked up; he leaned into my neck and scented the skin there.

"Mmh," he murmured, listening to the sudden rush inside of me. "Do you want me to show you?" He opened his mouth, put his teeth to my skin, but they were still his human veneers. I pushed down on the floor, lifted my neck and chest up, forming the yoga position 'upward facing dog' on top of him.

"No," I said, looking down on him as my hair slid past my shoulders, hesitated an inch above his face. I came back down, lowered into him and it draped over the side of his cheek like a rippling curtain, touching the floor. I brushed my locks away. "I want you to tell me."

"I can only compare myself to humans;" his eyelashes lowered, then came back up. "I don't remember what it was like to be one."

"I'm guessing brutal, at least for you," I said, thinking back to the dream I'd had, when Eric was covered in dirt and blood, had been gored open was dying slowly, aware of every last breath.

"What do you mean?" He sat up, arranging my legs so they straddled his waist before standing, moving forward and depositing me on the bed. He sat next to me, ran a finger down my bare arm, tracing the main vein there. He came off casual, but I knew better. His stare was intense, that bright, intelligent blue that wouldn't let anything sneak by.

"Oh," I faltered, wondering how to explain the dream, and now vision I'd had. "I dreamt of you when I was taken. About how you died."

"Tell me about it."

I closed my eyes, gathered courage and launched into the dream, his wound, his men, the language. I looked away when I brought the boy, Godric, up, when I told Eric of how his maker had slit the other men's throats, and then killed the man that sat next to me, entranced. What he'd done to Eric wasn't murder, though; he'd changed a human into a vampire so Eric's eyes would never close in a permanent sleep. It was done with admiration, with the hope of a connection, a companion to walk through the years with. When I finished, when in my mind I stared at his temporarily dead body, I looked up to find Eric wide-eyed, and absolutely still.

"You witnessed my transformation?" I wanted to speak, wanted to explain that I had no idea how, or why I'd seen what I had, but he wouldn't let me. "You saw Godric give me his blood? How—when I can't remember that part of the exchange, were you allowed to see it?"

"I—Eric, I have no idea. You're the supernatural being in the room."

"I have no explanation for you, Elliot." He should have been angry; this was something he didn't understand, something that couldn't be explained. Instead, his voice was soft, held a calm sort of surprise. "Not even a telepath I know can read vampire minds."

_Telepath?_ I wondered, intrigued. "But I didn't read your mind, I don't think. It was more like I received one of your memories, and then tonight…"

"You fell to your knees," Eric said, slowly. "You clawed the air in front of you and said 'snälla.' Do you know what that means?"

I shook my head.

"It means 'please.'"

"Did you see what I saw?" I questioned, my voice layered with his sorrow. I put my hand, tentatively, on the back of his neck, brushed it up through his soft, light hair.

This time, he shook his head. I gulped; I wanted him to know his maker went freely, peacefully. Before I knew what I was doing, I let the scene wash back over me, felt the gritty roof under my feet, opened my eyes and saw a transitioning sky. But this time, I wasn't alone; Eric stood next to me, watching himself walk away, lost to grief. He moved forward, followed the echo of Godric across the roof and stood next to him, watching the sun come up. I stayed where I was; this was not my moment to share—it was only mine to give. Though, how I had it, I didn't know.

The light made the vampires' skin glow, pale in the wake of the day. Eric remained as he was, but Godric, once again, sparkled blue, then fizzled away. I already knew he'd had a smile on his face when he'd gone. I opened my eyes again and found myself back on the bed, an arm stretched around Eric.

"That," he said, the words barely touching his lips, "was the first sunrise I've seen in over a millennia." He was far away, living over and over again in the memory we'd shared, letting the warmth of the day caress his skin lightly, tenderly, without any threats or consequences.

"See?" I said, bringing my face close to his, "he was alright, in the end."

"How did you do that? How do you have access to my memory?" The words came between short sweeps of his lips across mine, so light they barely touched, made the skin tingle with anticipation underneath.

"I don't know," I said, truthfully. "I've had a lot of your blood. Could that be it?"

"I've never given as much to anyone else as I have to you." His eyes shifted up, to the right, searching for something, anything, to find a reason, a cause for my visions. His lips curled playfully, though. "Are you sure you're human, Ms. Hunt?" He used my real last name, let it fall from his lips and loop over my skin like a finger, stroking careful figure eights. "You have a good name for a vampire," he teased.

"Mmh," I sounded, the back of my throat vibrating. "Perfect name for a carnivore. Terribly tragic, though, that I'm a vegetarian." I laughed, twisted so I faced Eric while bringing my legs up and pushed him back into the bed.

"So," I said, spreading my hands on his chest, "Tell the piddly human what it's like to be a ridiculously powerful, immortal vampire." The order was sarcastic, but I did want to know what it was like to be a supernatural being, what the world felt like to him.

"Give yourself credit," he smirked, shifting out from underneath me. I fell onto the sheets with a not-so-graceful 'umph.' I looked over my shoulder, annoyed. "You're not entirely helpless."

"Gee, thanks." He lifted a shoulder, and I could see his collar bone jump up, then settle back into place under his shirt. A sculptor could find perfection in Eric. I know I did. I wanted to trace the crevice between the bone and his shoulder, wanted to touch, kiss the space there, but it would be a goodbye, and Eric would know. I stopped myself in my tracks before any sadness could grip my heart, icing over the blood there, but something must have gotten through because Eric's brow furrowed, only slightly, and then it was gone. I kept myself calm; I could be sad over anything, He didn't know I was going to leave him.

"Close your eyes," Eric finally said, after a long moment where we just stared at each other's blank faces. I thought he was circumventing my question, distracting me physically so I'd forget. But he looked serious, and I felt only slight anticipation emanating from him, not lust. I wanted to know what he was doing, but I played along.

"Can you trust me?" He asks as the curtains of my eyelids hit my cheeks, obscuring the world around me.

"I can try," I murmur, knowing he'll hear me. The truth is I do, almost, and that in and of itself terrified me. Closeness like this made me tend to panic; I usually felt the suffocation of relationships, but my chest had yet to tighten with Eric.

Deft, weightless fingers pulled the hem of my oversized shirt up and I bit my lip, trying to hide an excited smile as his other hand slithered under my neck and lifted me up. I raised my arms, and, reenacting a memory of earlier tonight, the shirt came off. I was his oversized doll and he arranged me as he wanted, spread my arms out at my sides before catching the seam of my shorts and underwear, pulling them so they skimmed down across my legs, over my feet.

"What are—" I jerked up, opened my eyes, but Eric just covered them with a hand that fit the length of my forehead down to my nose.

"Just relax," he whispered, patient, but vague. I listened, all but melted into the bed, letting everything loosen. After a few minutes of silence and deep breathing, I felt sort of sleepy, until Eric spoke.

"Focus on my voice." I did, tracking the sound that had suddenly become far away, though I hadn't felt him leave the bed.

"You want to know how it feels to be like me?" He'd moved again, slightly closer.

"Y—yes," I found my voice, though it faltered, and was a few octaves lower than normal. I was laying naked on a bed with my eyes closed while Eric stalked the room around me; somehow, though, I wasn't worried, though it could have been the beginning layer of glamour he'd begun to layer into his voice. I didn't fight it, though; I wanted him to show me, wanted to know.

"My skin is denser, harder, and I heal quickly, but I also feel everything. You do to." The glamour intensified, weaving itself around me, taking control. "You can feel the particles in the air, gliding over every cell and every fiber in your being." My body, with his coaxing, lit up like a light switch had been turned on. Warmth spread over the surface of my skin; I felt the air, pushed by Eric's words, gliding past slowly, lazily like the sun on a hot summer day. It stretched around me, caressed, but didn't chill.

"Oh," I sighed, entranced with the friction from the sheets under me; I rubbed my hands and feet hard, digging them into the fabric, producing tiny shocks of pleasure that zinged just below the surface of my body. How could Eric be so focused all the time if he felt like this?

"You're free," he continued. "Free from the laws of biology, of physics. Your heart doesn't beat, but you live; you can fall forever and get up when you hit the ground. Where there organ systems and functions, you have raw energy, power to such a degree that when you first cross over, you feel intoxicated with it all." I giggled, high with the absurdity of it all. I felt like I could levitate, felt the resonance of his abilities coursing through me, making me writhe, lost in the hedonism of his journey.

"Your sense of hearing is ten times that of a human; you know when people are coming before _they_ do." I moved my head toward him, listening; somehow, now, I knew he was exactly ten feet away, on my right side. His voice was louder, and more complex; the timbre was deep, slow and even like honey. The tattoo of my own heart gave me pause, marked every moment as it passed; the double-beat rhythm was more intense, and what's more is that I heard the chamber between the atrium and the ventricle open, the trickling of blood, and then the echo of its close. My lungs completed their circular pattern, allowing air to rush past my vocal chords, down into the bronchi, finally transfusing in the alveoli, toward my blood, which was a constant hum in the background.

Eric stepped closer, and every light footfall was broken down into parts for me; heel, arch, toe, heel, arch, toe.

"How do you feel?" He asked, approaching my body with his index finger, making me react to his touch before he ever met my skin. When he did, he drew invisible spirals, looping over and under as I shuddered with the excess stimuli. I was fairly sparkling with pleasure, and need. I wanted him to share this with me.

"Like a vampire, I guess," I said, keeping my eyes closed, though I felt him lower himself to the bed and approach me, though he didn't touch quite yet; after teasing me with languid almost-brushes, he cupped my hips, dragged me forward until I was on the edge of the bed.

"Not yet." There was a smile in his words. "Open your eyes." I did; his gaze was dark and I rode on a channel of lust that went right through me. If I hadn't have been laying down, I would have had to.

"Your vision," he said, gazing at my lips, then pulling upward to my eyes, "Is so clear it's almost a distraction, at first. Colors are richer, brighter. You see everything, imperfections, details down to the minutia. The dark becomes the day for you, your playground." As his words plunged me further into the glamour, the room grew lighter until we were in a pre-dawn haze, though all the windows were shuttered. And then I saw Eric for the first time. It really wasn't fair; he was an anomaly, a god among the masses of the average looking, a group I counted myself in. He had a scar on his left temple, a small, straight mark that gleamed white, obvious with my new sight boost. His eyes, that clean shade of grey blue, stayed on mine, allowing me to remain in my heightened state. His influence coiled within me, and it was without thinking that I acted upon both of our feelings. His touch was fast and constant, his hands moving up and down my body, touching and exploring every crevice with a muted feeling of someone trying to cram for a test, trying to remember every aspect of the subject—though he was studying me. Kissing alone sent my equilibrium screeching to a halt; I couldn't tell what was up or down, but it didn't matter because we were connected, together. He undressed impressively, never breaking contact with my body, never allowing me to regroup and think. He wanted me to _feel,_ just feel, and so I did, gasping a God's name I didn't believe in when he braced himself against the mattress and slid inside of me.

His fangs weren't out yet, and I marveled at his self-control. I could hear, could smell the heady scent of the blood that was sweeping through my body faster than should have been possible—how could he resist?

"It's alright," I gasped, the words coming out in quick pants. "Show me." His lips parted and his lateral incisors flowed smoothly into a diminutive point, elegant in his otherwise normal mouth. This was how he belonged, though no matter what form he took, human-like or vampire, I was sure he could willingly commit anyone to walk with him into their death, gratefully allowing him to angle their neck, break the skin and whisper _thank you_ as he drained them dry.

"You're beautiful," I said, ignoring the not so gender neutral term, but I spoke the truth. He was beautiful, deadly and somehow, I wanted to stay with him. I forgot about leaving, though, focused on the beauty of the moment, the push pull fight that kept us hovering over oblivion until we finally called a truce and were left blind in nirvana's wake.

When we laid back together, limbs strewn carelessly over one another, he let me out from under his spell and I floated back to myself feeling muted, boxed in by my normal senses.

"That was," I began, unsure of how to express my gratitude, "like nothing I've ever felt."

He just nodded and pulled me closer; it was getting close to dawn.

"What happens tomorrow?" I asked.

"We go back to Fangtasia," he began; and I frowned, remembering that the club was closed on Mondays. "And sort this out. We'll pick up your car and arrange for a place to stay while my house is fit with a better security system."

I assented with a wordless hum in the back of my throat. So that's when I would leave him, would run away home.

Ugh.

Eric started to nod off, but I gently shook his shoulder.

"Eric,"

"Mmm?"

I didn't say anything, just offered my neck to him; his thumb, swirl-side down, traced over the vein there, and then he bit, so carefully I didn't feel it. I let go of myself again, allowed him to take me, and eventually drifted off to sleep, trying not to cry over the man I was losing.


	16. Chapter 16

The next morning, or evening, I guess, I awoke pressed, naked, into Eric's body. We faced each other, his arm slung around me. It was so long I think he could have hooked it around me entirely, in a complete, albeit one-armed embrace. He was still unconscious, so I took a moment to myself and allowed myself to feel everything I'd been blocking last night. It wasn't fair; I hated Eric, hated what he'd done to me because I was _me,_ an independent, deeply private person who would never have submitted to a blackmailer in the first place. Loving him, if that's what I was doing, was a paradox. He'd gotten under my skin, forced my back into a wall until I finally came clean with myself, admitted what had been hidden so deeply in my mind that I never would have realized it alone.

But what good was this, now? I would be leaving a piece of myself behind and carrying his blood in me until the day I died, leaving me marked, unable to forget him, to simply ignore his existence. I would feel him, always.

I crushed my body closer to his until there was no room between us and gripped my hands around his arms, ghosted my fingers across his cheeks, ran them through his hair and let a low moan leak out of me; it filled the room with fury and pain and regret. But I didn't cry, couldn't even make my eyes water because I was doing what had to be done. I was taking control of my life. It had jumped the rails in the past few weeks, gone streaking madly, gaining velocity before heading into a final crash, and I was throwing on the emergency break, praying it wasn't too late.

The screams died down, leaving my throat raw, tender, and I just stared at Eric, memorizing every aspect of his features; the high brow, barely-there lashes, soft lips. I licked my own and kissed his; they were lifeless and I held my breath, pouring my unreciprocated passion into his prone body until I felt the muscles of his mouth jerk. His teeth lengthened without warning, one moment dull, blunt like mine, the next sliding out over his bottom lip, digging into mine in the process.

"Ah," I gasped, wincing at the tiny, but shooting pain. He'd latched onto my bottom lip and the sucking was making the veins underneath throb. He let go, pressed back onto my mouth, opening my lips with his tongue.

"Morning breath," I garbled, muffled between kisses.

"You taste like me," he said, releasing me for long enough to speak. "I have no problems with that. Actually…" He trailed off, closed his mouth and I heard a soft popping sound before he made contact again; this time I pried his entrance open and felt, as soon as I swished my tongue over his playfully, the slick layer of blood that had bubbled over the muscle. It deepened the kiss, made me more aggressive, assistant. I thought I heard Eric chuckle, but I couldn't tell; I was too busy trying to keep us connected and moving, trying to make sure I was communicating my fervor for him. I allowed myself to feel every good thought and emotion I'd had about him and the memories filled me, passed through to him; He rolled onto his back, taking me with, wrapping himself around me as I stopped the kiss to take a breath.

"There aren't enough women like you, Elliot," he said, gazing up at me; I felt his words—in more than one way—and walked my hand backward down his chest, toward his groin. He shuddered when I wrapped my hand around his long length, and I almost got off on my control over him.

"Oh, am I interrupting?" I froze, hearing Pam's voice behind us, and then the light switched on; at that very moment, she was staring at my very naked butt…and probably cackling to herself, waiting to lick up every last drop of the delicious embarrassment I was sure to show. Vampires routinely underestimated humans, but that sort of went with the territory, I supposed. Instead of blushing, or covering up and allowing Pam the pleasure of laughing at 'silly human' behavior, I planted one last kiss on Eric and swung my legs over the end of the bed and stood up to face our interloper, planting my hip and placing a hand there.

"Not at all, Pam." I licked Eric's blood from my lips, enjoying the rich sweetness briefly before I looked her square in the eye. "I'd ask you to join us," I motioned to Eric, "But maybe some other time. Now, what's on your mind?"

She gave a wicked grin, and I knew I'd been measured and found satisfactory. Her teeth shone lightly in the soft light, and something told me she was remembering the kiss we'd shared.

"I came to offer you some clothes," she said, drawling lightly. "Though, what you've got on now is a vast improvement over last night."

I felt my eyebrows shoot up to 'incredulous,' but I couldn't help but smile at Pam's innuendo. "Thanks for the offer," I said, and turned back to Eric.

"I'll be back in a little while." Without pulling on the t-shirt that had been discarded on the floor earlier, I followed Pam from the room but thought of Eric, what I could have been doing, and longing free-floated through my blood. I think I heard a chuckle as the door shut behind us, but it could have been my imagination. Pam walked in front of me, leading me down the hall, then up the stairs; her legs and hips twitched in time with her steps under a blue silk kimono-style robe that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. I trailed my hand lightly on the wooden banister, now slightly, and very apparently cold.

But Pam's room was just to the left of the top stair; she breezed in and I stared at another beautiful bedroom. Hers was done in cream and honey-bronze tones; everything was simple—the foam-white bedspread that encased a huge mattress, both of which looked inviting enough to fall into. The furniture was stained black; an antique bureau with a huge mirror attached to it showed me our reflections, and, like last night, I didn't quite know the woman who stared back at me. Especially after this morning's ingestion; my hair was almost silk, and my nose, which had always seemed a bit too curved for my face looked less obvious.

"Relax, Elliot," She said, pulling up the corner of her mouth; it wasn't a smile—I didn't know what to call it, really, but it was almost amicable. "Vampire looks good on you."

"I'm going to put that in the 'compliment' category," I muttered, wondering if she had given me a backhanded compliment with a nary a hint of sarcasm on purpose. But my attention was pulled in another direction when Pam opened the door to her closet and revealed a collection that beat out Prada, Versace and Armani. Combined.

"Wow," I breathed, high on clothes I'd never dreamed of wearing.

"You know he wants to turn you, right?" Pam asked casually, like we were discussing an article in The New York Times while she surveyed a black pencil skirt and a jade green silk top.

"I gathered something along those lines," I replied, dully.

"And?" She wrinkled her nose at the outfit, bypassed it for a black sheath dress and a deep maroon wrap, which she handed to me, along with a bra and underwear. I'd forgotten I was naked, and hurried into the bathroom, which Pam nodded at before I even asked where it was. I spoke through the door.

"I don't know," I said, pulling on the dress. It was a little loose in the hips, but it fell gracefully, creating swooping lines I admired in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that surrounded the perimeter of the bathroom. "I don't know if I'm ready."

The door opened suddenly, and Pam's face was serious, though she did look me up and down as I pulled the sweater on and tied the ribbon on the back.

"Ready for what, Elliot?" She shook her head. "Mortals. You always wait, like you're playing a game of poker, hoping the next hand is the jackpot."

"I'm too young to die."

"People die every day." He mouth was thin now, a slash against her face. "I died when I was nineteen. But my death was a blessing, and yours will be too. How can you be sure you're not already dying? Or that you won't get into a car accident tomorrow?"

She was right, of course; the things I did every day were more dangerous than I knew, especially of the late. The statistics of getting hit by a bus, crashing my car, getting burglarized and killed, raped—they all lined up, distinct and scary. With Eric, my death was certainty, but it wasn't permanent.

"His offer means something," she continued, appealing to me. "He doesn't turn many."

"I'll think about it," I appeased. I needed to get out of her grasp, to stop looking her in the eye and facing my future, something that I'd been avoiding at all costs. She nodded, though I wasn't sure if she believed me, and looked me over once more.

"I'm good," She said, proud. I felt like a dress-up doll.

***

An hour later, we were back on the road, headed toward Fangtasia to regroup and try to figure out what, exactly, was going on. When we arrived, I saw my car, sitting lonely in the lot. There was no sign of the Mercedes.

We trickled into the building lazily, like fat drops of rain sliding down a clouded window on an overcast day. There was a pleasing bite to the air, and I turned to Eric, who looked occupied, running over something in his own head.

"Have you been to New England in the fall?" I asked, far away myself, picking apples in orchards while quiet leaves fluttered to the dirt floor, creating multi-colored confetti.

"Yes," he said. "But I think it loses something in the dark."

I'd forgotten about that; fall was best viewed in the sun when everything soaked up the gold light and reflected it back, making the atmosphere warm even as the temperature dropped. I remembered driving on the highway, wind splashing through the car, making my hair weave snake-like around my head as I gazed out the window at the pinpricks of red, yellow, orange and brown surrounding the roads.

"It does," I murmured, looking at Pam. We'd arrived into the open office, and I took a seat on the couch. Eric pulled two chairs off the tower on which they'd been stacked and gave one to Pam before sitting down.

"So," he started, "The man who took you, who used chloroform on you was the same man who made the beer delivery?"

"Yeah," I saw him in my mind. "He was tall, sort of stocky, but not fat. And his hair was short. Like, military short." Eric exchanged glances with Pam.

"That's not our normal guy," he said, and went on to describe a shorter, lithe man whose hair was almost as long as Pam's.

"Oh," I said. "But why would a witch, a vampire and a human be working together to get rid of you?" I asked. I knew they wanted his job, but was killing him the way to do it? Especially with the taboo of one vampire killing another?

"Intimidation," Pam spoke up, crossing her legs neatly as she did. "They wanted to show they could take Eric's business and job; once they did, no one would confront them for it without suffering the same fate.

"Brutal." I sometimes forgot the extent of corruption the need for power can contain.

"Effective."

That Eric understood the motives for the planned hostile takeover took me aback. I was really in over my head here. Realizing this, I thought that now might be a good time to cut and run, while I still could.

"Hey," I said, glancing at Eric. "I haven't eaten in what seems like forever." It was true—I couldn't remember the last time I'd chewed anything, even gum; I guess his blood had kept me fulfilled. "I think I'll go get something."

Eric stood up to come with me, but I shooed him away. "I'm ok, I promise. I'll just go to the corner on Main Street; there's a café there, right?" Eric just nodded, told me my purse was on his desk. I looked at him, watched his lips move and leaned down into him, pressing hard again, that desperate, passionate kiss that I wanted to remember for the rest of my life, before turning my back, straightening my falling features and retrieving my purse from Eric's office. I numbed myself, cooled my blood with apathy and pushed open the back door, vowing no to cry until I was at twelve hours away—when Eric couldn't come after me.

But I didn't make it out of the building, because as soon as I felt the cool night air on my face, I also felt a metal cylinder brace itself against my forehead.

"Aww," A female voice said, and in a moment I recognized it as my female captor. The witch. "You wouldn't want to leave the party before it starts, would you?" My eyes went wide and speech left me, abandoning my conscious mind, leaving only _Ohgodohgodohgodohgod_ to ring over and over as I was stepped back into the club, each footfall sounding like a sonic boom. Adrenaline shocked my system, made my heart lurch out of gear and then beat double time to make up for the error.

It was with the gun to my head that I was brought back into the room where Pam and Eric were already standing, fangs out, ready to attack.

"Down, vampire," she directed at Eric. "Take a step," she warned, as he legs quivered beneath him, begging for action, "And she gets a bullet in the brain. I was never that great at biology, but I remember 'dead' is sort of a permanent state for humans."

"I will bathe my hands in your blood," Eric growled, voice low.

"Ooh," she mocked. "Not while I have your pet, you won't."

"What do you want?" He asked, his tone so menacing I swallowed down the fear that was trickling into my throat like bile.

"I want what you have," she said, running her tongue across her teeth. "I want your club—and I would have by now, if this little idiot," she shook me, pulled by my hair, "hadn't killed Johan."

"Why was he so important?" I asked, my voice barely a register above 'whisper.' "He was only giving you fifteen percent—without him, you would get everything." I was looking at her closely now; her eyes were wild, jumped from face to face, never stopping, never making eye contact over a second. The gun was shaking slightly on my forehead.

"I can't exactly be sheriff like this, can I?" She snarled, gesturing to herself with her free hand.

"He was going to turn you?" Eric's lip was raised in a sneer that was made all the more malicious by his predatory stance—and teeth.

"You were going to pay that human lackey to stake Johan so you could take over everything," I realized, aloud.

"What a smart girl," the woman cooed. "You figured it out." I wanted to punch her, humiliate her for the imprisonment she'd subjected me to, for endangering my life, Eric's livelihood. She was obviously insane; her pupils were dilated, stuck open and she looked flushed, slightly sweaty.

"This is your plan?" Pam questioned. "You came, barely armed to our property, one human against two vampires and a girl who can obviously take care of herself? What were you planning on doing?"

"You," the witch gestured to Eric, her short, dark-colored nails standing out against the pallor of her skin as it waved through the air, "Are going to sign the deed to this place over to me. I'll take it from there."

"And how do you plan on making us do that?" Pam took a step closer, testing the witch. My entire body tense, clamped down when, with a thin finger, she pulled the hammer back and tensed the trigger.

"Pam, don't come closer," I begged, knowing the woman would have no qualms about making good on her promise to blow me away.

"I will make this business go to hell," the witch said, sweetly. I know you can feel my power. If you don't give me what I want, I will burn your livelihood to the ground." Her eyed were dark with pleasure; she was drunk with the idea of her authority.

"Hey," Eric said, his voice sweet and slow; he was going to glamour her, try to get her under his control. "Focus on me."

She looked doubtful, glance at me once before meeting Eric's eyes.

"It's alright," he said, putting his hands up, showing his innocence. "We're going to give you the deed, and everything's going to be fine."

"Fine," she mumbled; she'd begun to shake and I felt the butt of the gun dancing across my skin, the metal hard and impersonal, though it had the power to rip my life away at any moment.

"Yes, you're going to be great," Eric continued. "Point the gun at me, that's who you want; this is all about us—forget about the girl."

"All about us," Her eyes were wide, and the arc was slow, but the gun found its way to Eric, and she kept it trained on him.

"You're doing so well," Eric was weaving his words thick, now, trying to make her let her guard down completely so he could control her completely, use her like a puppet.

"You know what?" She asked, voice dreamy, like she was about to be put under for a surgery.

"What?" Eric asked, his voice laced with paternal care.

"I think you should find someone that works better on,' She snapped, all hints of her transfixion gone. The gun went off in her hand, one, two, three, and all hit directly into Eric's chest. He went to his knees, then fell forward, a look of brief surprise crossing over his features before they went slack and he fell into oblivion. Without thinking, without making a decision, I grabbed at the handle of the gun, clawing at her hand there, punching at her elbow so her grip would weaken. The gun clattered to the floor and she fell after it, trying to reach it before I could. It didn't matter, though, because Pam had vaulted over to us, tackling the witch just as she wrapped her hands around my throat, digging her nails into the arteries there hard, so the blood flow was blocked entirely.

"Unhn," I grunted, seeing spots as air decided that they had stayed away from my lungs long enough. I lay still for a moment, trying to wade through the dark until I felt like I could move again without the world trying to knock me off its axis. I crawled over to Eric, who was lying in a pool of his own blood; his hair dipped into it, making it scarlet against his skin. He didn't move, didn't respond when I tugged at him, tried to shake him awake. Pam sighed behind me, and I turned in time to see her take her teeth from the witch's neck before looking the insane woman in the eye and breaking her neck with a quick, deft snap that sent a shudder through my spine. I knew it had to be done; the woman wouldn't have stopped coming after us, no matter what, but killing was still killing.

"Pam," I yelled, breaking her out of her blood swoon. "Come here!" She did, moving fast so that she disappeared and then was immediately next to me, looking down at Eric with serious eyes. He was pale, and still unconscious; the feeling of fear for him was paralyzing as I gazed down at his body; vampires were not supposed to get hurt, to fall down and stay there. I couldn't feel him, couldn't feel his presence through the bond and that shook me to the bone; I felt alone and cold without his soothing presence.

"He should be alright," she said, worry drawing around her voice, "But he's still losing a lot of blood."

"Bite me," I ordered, not stopping to second-guess myself. He face went blank in surprise, but she did as told, lifted my wrist gently like a mother rearranging a newborn, and bit delicately, licking the blood off her teeth as it started to pour down my wrist. I held the liquid to Eric's mouth, allowed it touch his tongue so the anti-coagulating agent would kick in and let the wound stay open long enough to get some sort of benefit from it.

Soon enough, he'd started swallowing the blood that had begun collecting in his throat, dripping down his cheeks like fake tears. When he opened his eyes after what felt like an eternity, I pressed my hand to his cheek and took my hand away. Pam licked the cut clean and I ran my thumb across his mouth, wiping traces that had spilled over back in. His tongue reach up, licked my skin and his eyes shut for a moment as he savored the taste. The bullets that had hit him popped out onto his shirt, then rolled off onto the floor, clicking like heavy change.

"Eric," I whispered, tears forming in my eyes. I blinked and one fell on his cheek, remaining static for a moment before rolling off into his hair. "I'm so glad you're ok." I brought my face down to his, breathed in his scent and a sob found its way out of my throat. "I was so scared."

His eyes were large, making the blue stand out even more against the whites. His hand went to my face, my hair, and I brushed back against his skin, like a cat being caressed.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice haunted, confused; "But I don't know who you are."

THE END

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For now…


	17. Author's Note

Thank you to everyone who reviewed; this story was received surprisingly well and I just wanted to thank everyone who took the time to review!!

This last chapter was the end chapter to Citizen Erased, but there will be a sequel called 'Into the Dark,' though my classes this coming week are going to be insanely stressful, so it may not be up until next weekend.

Thanks again!

--Radioheaded


	18. Author's Note 20

Hey guys,

The new story's up! I just posted 'Into the Dark,' so read and enjoy!

Thanks,

--Radioheaded


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